A Million Miles Of Fun
by Jade8devlin
Summary: "As the nation mourns the loss of Russell and Judith Fabray, the four teens wanted for one of the most brutal murders Ohio has seen continue to evade police." - in a gold VW Bug with the number plate, 'GLDSTR'. Faberry/Brittana. Faberrittana friendship.
1. Part 1a

**Part One – We Are Not What You Think We Are**

"And in Lima, Ohio, a man and woman were killed earlier today during what is believed to be a home invasion. Russell Fabray was last seen leaving Gas'N'Go at two o'clock; his wife, Judith, from a grocery story an hour earlier. Police are linking the double homicide to the area's recent surge in breaking and entering – though these appear to be the first fatalities. The victims are survived by their daughters; Quinn and Stacey."

Jessalyn Briggs shuffles the papers on her desk, clearing her throat. The somber expression on her face seems to float off her as she turns towards camera 3.

"Otis-the-Otter finishes today's news headlines as the little critter that could. Abandoned by his mother and found foraging for scraps in the Nelson family's garbage cans, Otis has proven; if you can't teach an old dog new tricks, teach them to an otter! Otis placed second at this year's Ohio Dog Show after last year's well-documented struggle by the Nelson family to allow Otis to be included. Well done Otis, we here at Channel 43 salute you."

O-O

"Russell and Judith Fabray were known as upstanding citizens of Lima, a town they loved and a town that today mourns the murdered couple. Just two days ago they were found in their home; Russell had been stabbed over thirty-five times in the torso; Judith was strangled in her own kitchen. Mourners traveled from as far as Massachusetts to pay respects to the couple, initially believed to have been killed in a home invasion gone horribly wrong. Police, however, have denied any links between the murder and the series of burgled homes, and instead are urging anyone with information on the couple's youngest daughter, Quinn Fabray, to come forward."

O-O

"The ongoing Fabray murder case deepens as three teenage girls have been reported missing alongside the Fabray's youngest daughter, Quinn. Santana Lopez, Brittany Pierce and Rachel Berry have not been seen since the day of the murder. All but Rachel Berry were well known friends of the Fabrays, and concerned citizens are searching for the missing teenaged girls. Some believe they have fallen victim to a sex trafficking ring of unknown origin. Police are yet to comment on these allegations."

O-O

"In tonight's top story: when teenagers kill. It is with a heavy heart that we bring you the following. Parents are warned that some images and themes shown tonight are disturbing in nature and not recommended for those under the age of twelve."

Jessalyn Briggs turns to camera 3.

"Russell and Judith Fabray were once an honest, God fearing couple living a simple life in small town Lima, Ohio. Sources close to the couple say the Fabrays had separated, though were working towards reconciling their marriage. Young at heart, and constantly offering financial support to Lima Protestant Church, tragedy befell them on April sixteenth – just four days before their oldest daughter's birthday."

An image of Stacey Fabray, blonde and smiling, is shown. She is pretty, wholesome, and wears a University of Columbia cheerleading outfit.

Then, one of Judith Fabray – groomed, poised, and smiling at something outside the borders of the photograph.

"Judith Fabray spent the morning of April sixteenth at Lima Protestant Church, before picking up some groceries and heading home. All in all, a normal day for the mother of two teenaged girls."

An image of Russell Fabray – sunglasses, wide smile, and leaning against a boat railing.

"Lima City Bank Manger, Russell Fabray, was well liked and a hard worker. Co-workers report on the day of the murder he seemed agitated, and left work soon after lunch citing illness. Stopping for gas, the attendant has been quoted as saying, 'He were real fidgety. Like he had somewheres important to be and it weren't here.' Neither was seen alive again."

Four images, each holding a teenaged girl. None are smiling.

"Quinn Fabray and her cheerleading peers – Santana Lopez and Brittany Pierce – were last seen leaving William McKinley High School in a vehicle identified as belonging to the fourth missing girl – Rachel Berry. Neighbors report seeing the vehicle parked outside the Fabray house until three-thirty that afternoon. Edna Bellfries told police, 'That car with those girls in just peeled away from the house of those poor people like Satan himself was licking at their heels.' The girls are yet to be found."

Image - A body covered in a white sheet lying on a carpeted floor. Spots of blood have seeped through in areas over the torso.

"Police have confirmed that Russell Fabray was stabbed twenty-seven times in the chest, and sixteen times in the back. Sheriff William Brewster today also confirmed that Russell Fabray was stabbed in the chest by a female, weighing approximately one hundred and ten pounds, and in the back by a second perpetrator with a similar build."

Image – Quinn Fabray in Cheerios cheerleading outfit, smiling at the camera.

"Judith Fabray was strangled by yet a third assailant, also of similar build. Thought at first to be missing, Sheriff Brewster today confirmed that clothing and miscellaneous items are missing from each girl's residence. Their parents have declined to comment.

Jessalyn Briggs stares deeply into the camera.

"We advise that these four girls are dangerous and wanted for murder. If you have any information we strongly urge you to come forward, or call the number on your screen. I repeat, these four teenaged girls may appear harmless, but they are very dangerous. Sheriff Brewster has not offered further evidence on the matter, though he is quoted from a statement released earlier this evening: 'There is no doubt in my mind that these four are heavily involved in the Fabray murder. Do not approach them. If you notice any suspicious looking teenage girls – two brunettes, two blondes – call the police immediately. They're wanted for questioning in this double homicide.'"

O-O

"Finn Hudson, is it true that you dated both Quinn Fabray and Rachel Berry?"

"Uh, yeah. I did. Not at the same time or anything, 'cause that'd be weird, or well it'd be kind of hot. But no way would they go for it, they hate each other."

"So there was tension between them?"

"Yeah, you could say that. I mean, they were sort of friends last I – uh, well last I saw them they were going to Rachel's car and I thought – well, I didn't think they were off to –"

Finn pauses, looking deeply disturbed. And slightly constipated.

* * *

><p>A well coiffed boy stands in front of a set of lockers, clutching his shoulder bag and smirking into the camera.<p>

"I was in Glee Club with all four of them and I have to say I am not surprised in the least by any of this."

"Did they ever give any outward indication that they were capable of murder?"

"Absolutely, Quinn and Santana were the scariest cheerleaders in the school. Until they joined the Glee Club. Then they were just – you know – it's hard to be afraid of someone who spends so much time singing and dancing. Especially compared to Rachel Berry."

"What of Brittany Pierce? What was her role?"

"Cheerleader, but you know, not all there. Not to say she was stupid, but I mean, she told me I had hands like a baby –"

"And what of the friendship between Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray?"

"What friendship? Rachel was always desperate for Quinn's attention, and Quinn was just – I mean, Rachel and I teetered on the precipice of friendship too, once, and I am so relieved that fell through I could jump up and praise the Lord. And I'm not religious. But what they did to the Fabrays? Ghastly."

"Yet you said you weren't surprised?"

"Not one bit. If I had to pick any one in this school to commit murder, it would be a tie between Quinn Fabray, Santana Lopez and Rachel Berry. Well, no, my first thought would be that Quinn and Santana would _kill_ Rachel. But if Rachel isn't the victim, she's definitely the one wielding something."

* * *

><p>A heavyset girl in a bright purple jacket and leopard print shoes primps herself in front of a piano.<p>

"This is where it happened. Every Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday we'd sit here and Mr Shue would give us songs to sing, and Quinn was always reading a book or not interested."

"She didn't appear to enjoy Glee Club?"

"Oh, yeah she did when it was a big group number. But in the afternoons it was like she was just here instead of being somewhere else. I mean – okay don't judge me, but I was close to her in sophomore year. She lived at our house because her parents kicked her out and she had nowhere to go, and the poor girl was pregnant with the child of a moron – which she pretended was the child of an even bigger moron –"

"Quinn Fabray was pregnant?"

"You didn't know? Yeah, she was pregnant but gave the baby up for adoption. To Rachel's mom, Shelby."

"Are police aware of this connection?"

"If they ain't, they been living under a bridge or something."

"And during her time at your house, what was Quinn Fabray's behavior like?"

"Like any pregnant mama, and after Beth was born she went back to live with her mom. How did you not know this?"

* * *

><p>A scowling boy with a mohawk smokes a cigarette on the school's football field.<p>

"Yeah, I knew them."

"Is it true you fathered a child with Quinn Fabray?"

"What's it to you?"

* * *

><p>A man in his late thirties, and a sweater vest, shakes his head. His arms – folded over his chest – squeeze his body tighter every so often. He has tears in his eyes.<p>

"Those girls were – I _never_ would've believed them capable of doing something like this. We joked – I mean the kids joked – that Santana was the devil, and Rachel could be really, _really_ frightening at times. But murder?"

"Were you close to the girls?"

"I thought I was. I really thought I was getting through to those kids, teaching them about having dreams and hopes – was it something I did? Something I didn't say to them?"

"What do you believe the link is between Quinn Fabray and Rachel Berry?"

"Link? They dated the same guy, Finn – actually the same two guys, Finn Hudson and Noah Puckerman – but they hated each other. Absolutely. I never paired them because I thought it would lead to bloodsh – violence of some kind. Though they paired themselves together one week for a song and – did I unite them? Was it because of me they sought each other out and did this?"

"Santana Lopez and Brittany Pierce – were you close to them?"

"I tried to be. God, I tried to be. But they were Sue's, really. Uh, Coach Sylvester. They were Cheerios first, and in Glee Club second. Or that's how I saw it."

* * *

><p>A tall woman in a matching tracksuit leans one ass cheek on her desk and glares into the camera.<p>

"I've got one thing to say Fabray, Lopez, and Brittany – _sloppy_. At least you had the decency to commit murder _after_ quitting my squad _before_ the most important competition of your _lives_ and letting everyone worth a damn down. For that, I no longer condemn your names. Fine. I forgive you. But know this: you would _never_ have had the time to go murder your parents if you'd stayed on my cheerleading squad. It's simple science. Teenagers with rigorous schedules and a daily allowance of four hours sleep don't kill people. They're too _tired. _I tell people over and over again: don't let teenagers be idle. Idle hands will get you killed. Just ask the Fabrays. Oh, you can't? That's because their extracurricular worthwhile activity avoiding _sloppy baby,_ and equally _useless_ cohorts, _killed them_."

* * *

><p>The boy with the mohawk flicks his cigarette.<p>

"Yeah, so I made out with all of them. What's the big deal? I didn't do this, I didn't know about this. Hell, I hadn't kissed a damn one of them in months. Yeah I'm Beth's dad, but so what? She belongs to someone else."

"Do you have anything you'd say to the girls, if you could?"

"No. Not a damn thing. Except, no wait, I do have one thing. This is to Quinn, Santana and Rachel – I'm smoking because of you. That's all I have to say."

The boy spits, and then crushes the cigarette out before stalking away from the camera.

O-O

"Otis is in fine form, that's for sure, he's picked up first place at Iowa's Annual Dog Circuit. Here at Channel 43, we'd like to say again, we salute you little buddy!"

Steven Jergen, Channel 43's late night news host, clears his throat and changes the expression on his face to one of stoicism.

"As the nation mourns the loss of Russell and Judith Fabray, the four teens wanted for one of the most brutal murders Ohio has seen continue to evade police. Tips have been called in from all over the country, though finding the location of these girls is proving a difficult task. Law enforcer Deputy Gerald Harvey is urging citizens to keep on the look out."

O-O

"Shocking news has just reached the studio. Three men in their early forties were found dead in a truck stop in south Ohio late last night. Appearing to be stabbed, beaten, and run over by a vehicle no bigger than a car, the men as yet remain unidentified. Concerns for a possible link to the Fabray murder case have yet to be confirmed. In a witness report to police; Dennis Jackson, a truck driver native to Brimfield, Massachusetts, stated seeing two females enter the truck stop as he exited the premises. Unconfirmed sightings report another two females were waiting in a nearby car. Police remind people to exercise extreme caution – these girls may be teenagers, but they are dangerous."

O-O O-O O-O O-O

The sun had set hours ago. They hadn't eaten dinner, nor spoken a word, since they turned left out of Lima. The highway stretched before them like an endless path to –

Well, they weren't sure yet. And they weren't speaking to each other, either.

Brittany Pierce gazed at Santana Lopez with a furrowed brow. She wanted to reach out and touch the girl, she really did. Except, there was dried blood on both of their hands, and she really wanted to wash hers first. The blood was like a barrier between them – she didn't want to touch it, or have it touch Santana. She wanted to be clean first.

Santana Lopez wasn't even aware of the blood on her hands, or Brittany's gaze upon her – for the first time in their long and complicated friendship. She just stared at the window, seeing nothing but a faint outline of her own face superimposed over so much black. She didn't know where they were, but there were no street lights or houses. Just endless country, and endless night.

Rachel Berry sat in the driver's seat, trying desperately to focus on driving the car in a straight line. If she kept driving, they could keep continuing to go somewhere. If she kept driving, and kept them in motion, they wouldn't have to stop, or talk, or think about what they'd done. She was very good at focusing on the task at hand, and even better at ignoring things she didn't want to face.

In the passenger seat, chewing her lip and staring blandly through the windscreen, Quinn Fabray was also covered in blood. Her hands; her clothes; even her neck. Dirty blonde hair fell onto her shoulders – the ends tangled and dark, as if there was blood there too.

They all needed a shower, and a deep restful sleep. They needed a safe haven, and a place to regroup – mentally, and with each other.

But, of course, there was nowhere for them to go. Just forward, into the dark, following a road that took them away from something terrible, and toward something completely unknown.

"We need to get gas."

Rachel's voice was low and soft, though the impact of the sound was like they'd hit something. Quinn jumped slightly, and Santana's gaze snapped to the back of Rachel's head.

Brittany cleared her throat tentatively, unable to stand it any longer.

"I need to wash my hands."

Santana frowned at her own hands, barely able to make them out in the dark of the car.

"We need to –" But she couldn't finish that sentence, because finishing a sentence like that led her mind somewhere she wasn't quite prepared for yet.

"We – we all need to – we aren't safe at a motel, so – I don't know what –" Rachel's grip on the steering wheel tightened, and though she wanted to glance at her passenger, she really just couldn't.

"Let's start with gas." Santana said finally, and like a welcome fifth passenger, silence enveloped them again.

O-O

It wasn't exactly ideal, but Quinn scrubbed herself with the gas station window wiper anyway. They'd managed to swipe it – Rachel had gone inside to distract the attendant – and she stood with Santana and Brittany and desperately tried to get clean.

Her and Santana had stripped to their underwear – standing behind the gas station, they were mostly out of sight – because if she had to be in those god awful clothes one more second she was going to vomit. Everywhere.

"I have the bathroom key, if you guys want to –" Rachel appeared around the corner, glancing back at the car, and up and down the highway as if expecting something to jump out at her suddenly.

"N- No, Berry just – can you get me some clothes from the car? I didn't think to – I can't put –" It was the first time she'd spoken since leaving Lima. Her voice felt wrong. God, everything felt wrong.

Rachel just nodded, moving quickly toward the car with her head down.

"And me!" Santana hissed. Her hands were shaking as she scrubbed at them with the squeegee.

Brittany examined her hands – clean, finally – before noticing blood smears on her shirt in the gas station's fluorescent lighting. She whipped her shirt off, fast, and dropped it onto the pile of discarded, bloody clothing between them.

"Me three!" She called out absently, before slamming her hands over her mouth. "Sorry." She mumbled through them, though Quinn and Santana were still too busy trying to clean themselves with the dwindling bucket of water mixed with window cleaner.

Rachel walked back to them, again with her head down, carrying a small bag. She dropped it at the other girl's feet, before dropping down herself to rummage through it. Wordlessly she handed Brittany a towel, and then a sweater after the girl had dried her hands and passed it onto Santana.

"I didn't mean to yell." Brittany said quietly, wearing a carousel horse sweater and looking bashful. It was weird that her friends were quiet, that Rachel was quiet. She didn't like it. She'd rather be told off than for everyone to be so quiet.

"The guy inside is high. On what, I couldn't tell you. So it's okay, Brittany. Yell all you like."

Rachel stood and tried to smile, but not very hard. Barely enough for the corners of her mouth to move.

Santana picked up the bag, reaching in a hand and pulling out a pair of shorts and a tank top.

"At least these are mine." She mumbled, passing the bag to Quinn who had dried herself the best she could.

Quinn barely even glanced at what she'd put on – jeans, and a t-shirt with a cartoon picture of a kitten in a party hat, next to a puppy in the same. The kitten was holding a bone, looking dismayed, and there were scraps of paper all around it. The puppy had its paws raised in the air in happiness.

"That's my shirt! I love that shirt." Brittany exclaimed, smiling for a moment, before remembering why smiling wasn't okay right now.

They walked back to the car in silence.

"Do we have any scissors?" Quinn asked softly, buckling her seatbelt and refusing to look at anyone.

"Glove compartment." Rachel replied, her voice equally as soft, starting the car and pulling away from the gas station.

As they gathered speed on the highway – in clean clothes and with clean hands – Santana gripped Brittany's hand as tightly as she could. They wound the windows down and let some air into the car, which took away the lingering stench of –

Brittany squeezed Santana's hand with equal force – the low, sick feeling in her stomach seeming more bearable, now.

Scattered along the highway behind them were golden strands of hair caked with blood, and the only sound in the car were the scissors snipping away in Quinn's hands.

O-O

They didn't sleep the first night. They weren't even tired.

Fifty miles outside of Lima, Rachel retired the wheel to Santana and climbed into the back of her car. Brittany insisted on staying next to the Latina – especially since neither Rachel nor Quinn seemed up to holding hands – and with the road no longer her focal point Rachel found herself staring at Quinn.

Quinn Fabray. Her tormentor for years; her adversary; stealer of boyfriends and serial cheater. God, she'd wanted so desperately to be her friend once. She'd thought if she could befriend her enemy, her enemy would disappear. And of course, they weren't completely dissimilar.

They'd even committed murder together, now.

She struggled not to hyperventilate, furiously breathing through her nose as quietly as she could because there was that horrible word. Murder. She was a murderer.

She would not vomit out of the car window. She would not.

She looked away from Quinn. Thought about Barbra Streisand's career and began to list her films in chronological order because she needed something to focus on. Something familiar. Something not related to her current situation at all.

In the front, Santana found the road ahead strangely calming. What a goddamned hell of a day. This was, really, the worst thing that could ever happen to her. The absolute worst. But Brittany was by her side, and holding her hand, and that was enough to bridge the moments for now.

Quinn was in the back, and that was good too. Her best friends were with her. Everything would be okay. She pushed out every niggling thought trying to force it's way into her head, because they all wanted to point out that, uh, _hello_ they had committed _murder_ and were on the run from the _law_. She'd never see her family again, or go to college, or become the first Hispanic lesbian female Presid –

_Nice try_, she thought, pushing them back.

She had her best friends. Nothing else mattered. Nothing. Brittany and Quinn were all she needed.

Oh, and apparently Rachel.

O-O

Quinn woke up suddenly, sitting forward and breathing heavily. Her eyes felt like they were pushing themselves out of her face. Her dreams had been – God they were awful, her parents were dead and she'd –

"Quinn?"

She jerked her head toward the voice, and there was Rachel Berry looking at her with big Bambi eyes. _Right, not a dream_.

Rachel rubbed Quinn's back until the girl started breathing normally again. It was a strange feeling, too. Every second she wanted to pull her hand away, but it stayed on the blonde's back and rubbed gentle circles until Quinn leaned away from it.

The sun had risen. They were parked off the highway, hidden by trees, both Santana and Brittany still sleeping in the front.

"We should –" Quinn started, but her throat was so dry the words barely made their way out of her mouth.

Rachel stretched, and then gingerly opened her car door and stepped out.

After some cajoling and prodding, the sleepy girls in the front had climbed into the back and fallen asleep cuddled into each other. Quinn took the driver's seat – though Rachel protested – and steered the car back toward the highway.

"We need to get rid of this car." Rachel said after a while, because her brain had finally recovered enough to think things through logically. Plus, Quinn was driving the car so her catatonic state had to be over with enough to broach the subject.

"We need breakfast." Quinn replied, looking out for any signs or turn offs for a town.

"Mmm, I want bacon." Brittany mumbled sleepily from the back, and Santana nuzzled her hair, breathing out words that sounded suspiciously like 'Me gusta'.

They ended up driving through a McDonald's on the side of the highway, and each girl did their best to ignore their fluttering hearts when the staff smiled at them happily. Santana was, again, ignoring the voices in her head telling her a S.W.A.T. team was going to abseil off the roof and arrest her before she could finish her hash browns. Brittany was nervous until she had a sausage, egg and bacon muffin her mouth and then her world was just deliciousness. Never to have Coach's diet again!

Quinn ordered a bacon and egg roll with triple extra bacon and a chocolate thick shake. Murdering her parents had given her a surprising appetite boost – though she conceded that, maybe, the sudden freedom she felt had something to do with it.

Rachel kept her mouth shut and sipped an orange juice because she felt it was an insensitive time to bring up the pointless global slaughter of innocent animals. She preserved, though, a planned speech for a later date, tentatively titled 'Just Because I Have Committed An Act Of Murder Does Not Mean I Am Completely Amoral: A Continued Support For A Vegan Lifestyle.'

She did relent slightly though, and her plain muffin was delicious. It reminded her of childhood. How did McDonald's make all of their food taste the same?

Santana belched, wound down her window, and threw her garbage out onto the highway. Brittany followed suit, and Rachel began spluttering and twisting in her seat to look at them both.

"Are you kidding me? Really, are you kidding? Do you not understand that native wild life are attracted to the salt and grease on your wrappers, and will come closer to the highway in order to obtain it? You just put their lives at risk! Not to mention the future of our planet, I can't believe you're both litterbugs, Quinn you stop this car because we are going back and picking –"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Berry. You're nitpicking the fact we just threw garbage out of a window? Really? A little goddamn perspective –"

"Oh my God, did I just kill innocent animals? San, we have to go back!"

"We're not stopping –"

"It's bad enough that you all just ate the equivalent of an entire pig –"

"Are you calling us pigs?"

"Would you guys just –"

"For fuck's sake, we just _murdered_ Quinn's parents and you're jumping on us for this shit?"

The car went silent as soon as the word 'murder' fell from Santana's lips. She didn't even notice until she'd stopped talking, though her face had paled once she realized.

Rachel winced, because what happened to waiting for a less insensitive time? What was wrong with her? No wonder she'd never had friends, she couldn't keep her frigging mouth shut.

Brittany looked at the back of Quinn's head, fearfully. This was so, so sad.

Quinn's knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. No more pretending.

"Yeah, we really did, didn't we?" She said, finally, and it was like a dam had suddenly burst.

"I am so fucking sor –"

"Quinn, I'm sor –"

"I feel so, so ba –"

"Don't apologize." Quinn snapped, the car jerking slightly to the left as she turned her head to glance at the other passengers. "Don't apologize, because we can't. We can't apologize. And we shouldn't. They were – it happened, and we have to deal with it, and that's it. No apologies, no looking back. Just forward. Always. Got that?"

Santana leant back into her seat, though she nodded when Quinn's eyes met her own in the rear view mirror. Brittany sighed, then she nodded her head too, and Rachel bit her own lip before hesitantly speaking.

"We need to get rid of this car. I fully support the idea to face forwards and deal with the consequences of our actions –"

"I ain't going to jail!"

"Santana, let me finish. The consequences I'm referring to do not involve our incarceration, rather our new life of anonymity. While the police have no doubt clued into our role in this crime – or they will – it is in our best interests to become invisible. This car is registered in my name, and this is the car we used to drive to and from Quinn's house. Someone would have seen us. Therefore, we need to get rid of it, and as soon as we can."

Rachel cleared her throat a little, and twisted in her seat again to look at the girls in the back seat.

"She's right." Quinn said softly, and Santana blinked a few times before squinting her eyes at Rachel.

"So what do you suggest – we _walk?_"

"Of course not, that would be inefficient and ridiculous. What we need to do is find a different car – one that isn't so easily recognized as belonging to any of us."

Santana sighed, folding her arms.

"Look, I see your point. But right now we _can't_ find a car that can't be traced back to us, because we're seventeen and would have to _steal_ one to get anywhere –"

"Cars are stolen everyday –"

"Seriously, Berry? A car gets stolen this close to Lima the day after a bunch of teenagers kill two people and you think, what, we can just go driving into the sunset without being found?"

"Well, I – I need to think."

"We all need to think."

Quinn's words were the last for a while.

A week ago, Rachel had been contemplating her college preferences and the set list for Nationals.

Santana had struggled with asking Brittany to live off campus with her the following year because while she'd broken it off with the cripple, things were still a little tense between them. They were focusing on _friendship_, apparently.

Quinn had been doing her best to smile at her friends as they chattered away about colleges and their futures, all the while leaving her college application forms in the bottom drawer of her desk – to be ignored for as long as she could stand.

And Brittany had been feeding ducks and imagining the matching dresses her and Santana would wear when they got married. She couldn't wait to be Michelle Obama.

Now each girl thought of the same thing – how to avoid a life in jail for murder, and become invisible.

O-O

"Look, we stay in the Berry mobile and get as far away as we can. No fucking around stealing cars and all that teen-criminal-runaway bullshit," Santana waved her hand dismissively. "They probably ain't even looking for our hot asses, or Berry's, so adding grand theft auto seems like a Finnessa move."

"A – what?" Rachel craned her neck with a deep frown, her rebuttal on the tip of her tongue.

"A dick move, midget."

Rachel was caught between a rock and hard place, for just a moment. Defend her idea of changing cars, or defend the love of her life?

"Firstly, Santana, while I appreciate your point on adding to our list of criminal offences I will remind you that grand theft auto is a step _down_ from _murder_ so your concerns are, frankly, irrelevant. Also, the further from Lima we get, the better, I heartily agree with you there, but soon we'll have the _nation_ looking for us, and – while initially delighted with such a unique choice of automobile for my seventeenth birthday present – a gold VW bug with the license plate 'GLDSTR' is not exactly hard to –"

"She's right. I'm sorry, Santana, I really am. You have no idea how much this pains me but Berry is right." Quinn's voice was soft. How they heard her over Rachel's rant was something none of them could exactly explain – Rachel included – but it was so nice to have Quinn onside that it shut her up. For a moment.

"Secondly, _Finn_ is not a –"

"Yeah, he is."

"Sorry Rachel, but San is so right."

"He broke up with me at a _funeral_."

"He has his moments, however calling him a –"

"Didn't he break up with you for macking on Puck? And _then_ macked on Quinn while she was with Sam? You know what you call that, Midget? Being a _dick_."

"She has a point, Berry."

"Santana knows dicks, Rachel. _So_ well."

"I – he was really – look, when he's upset he –"

"Acts like a dick."

Quinn took her right off of the steering wheel and bent her elbow back so the palm of her hand was facing the backseat. Santana surged forward and high fived her without missing a beat. Brittany clapped her hands.

"_Regardless_, I'd appreciate you not to talk about him that way because –"

"I don't give two jiggly man-boobs _what_ you'd appreciate –"

"How dare you –"

"Oh how dare I what, you little troll. You've got to realize something, okay? This isn't your little precious Glee Club anymore, and I'm not going to shut up and take your crap. You're with _us_, Berry, or haven't you noticed you're stuck on the run with three people who once took simple utter _joy_ from making your life a living hell. That is, until singing and dancing like a showboat full of homos became the focal point of our teenage lives."

"But San, you _are_ a homo."

"And proud of it, Britts. Lesbians are _awesome_. However, Man-Hands here needs a wake up call – she doesn't call the shots anymore! There's no _captain_ of fleeing the scene of a murder – and even if there was, I wouldn't vote for her –"

"You know what, Santana? I'll concede that Finn's behavior may appear dickish at times, but at least he isn't a _cunt_ like you."

Quinn's jaw dropped, and she glanced at Rachel's profile quickly. Rachel had her arms folded, and was staring resolutely ahead of her.

Behind them, Santana still had her mouth open as if she was going to say something, though no sound came out.

Brittany blinked, looking between the back of Rachel's head and Santana's shocked face like there was an invisible tennis ball bouncing back and forth between them.

Quinn grit her teeth, trying not to smile, because _really_. She'd never heard Rachel say a swear word before, and to start with _that_ particular one. At Santana _Lopez_. She snorted. She couldn't help it. It was _hilarious_. She chanced a look behind her shoulder at Santana's face, and the snort turned into a full belly laugh.

Rachel looked at Quinn in surprise, keeping her face neutral as she anticipated the Latina's hands to creep around from the backseat and strangle her at any moment.

Quinn kept laughing, and suddenly Santana joined her. Brittany, relief washing over her face, began laughing too.

"What's so funny?" Rachel snapped, struggling to remain as indignant and pissed off as she'd been moments earlier. "_What?_"

"Your – your – _faces –_ " Quinn spluttered.

"Berry just called me a _cunt_!" Santana howled from the backseat, and Quinn – shoulders shaking as she kept her eyes trained on the road – bent her arm again for Santana to high five.

"How is calling Santana a rude word funny?"

"Say it again Berry!" Santana called out from the backseat, slumped against the door and laughing.

"Say what exactly?"

"No way will that happen again, S. Getting Miss Virgin two-thousand-and-eleven to say _that_ –"

"I don't see why this matter is so amusing, I've always been an advocate for free speech and besides, it's not like I'm the _Christian_ among us."

"Yeah Berry, 'cause the Christian who killed her parents saying _cunt_ is such a stretch."

"I participated too, so I don't see why –"

"Oh please, we were all there. You didn't do a damn thing."

"I didn't do a – may I remind you who told you that Quinn's mom was in the –"

Quinn's laughter died down immediately.

"I told you we aren't talking about that." She said, quietly, and the laughter from the backseat stopped too.

They were silent, again.

After a few moments, Quinn turned on the indicator to take the exit into Belleville, Illinois. They hadn't talked about stopping, or destinations, and had let Quinn drive, so far, without comment.

"Why are we turning off, Q?" Santana leaned forward, frowning through the windshield.

"We need supplies." Quinn mumbled, and Rachel shifted awkwardly in her seat.

"I don't think that's –" She started, but stopped speaking when Quinn flipped on the radio without warning.

" – _caller on the line, Maria, with a story of a broken heart. This next tune goes out to you –_"

Without looking, she flipped stations.

" – _backstreet's back, alright! –_"

"I love that song!" Brittany called out, pouting when Quinn changed stations again.

" – _murder of Fabray couple has shocked the residents of Lima, with home security issues on the rise. Police insist people do not open their doors to anyone unfamiliar, and invest in tight security measures. Police urge residents to report any suspicious individuals, and not to approach –"_

Quinn turned the radio off.

They all breathed a sigh of relief. They weren't being looked for. Not yet.

"Well that settles it – we keep the car and we get supplies." Santana said triumphantly, nudging her knees into the back of Rachel's chair with a smirk.

"You're _such_ a cunt." Rachel murmured with an eye-roll, and joined in on the resulting laughter, this time.

O-O

"We need to ration our money since using credit cards is an absolute no-go, plus we'll need to keep enough to be able to buy petrol –"

"They're not even looking for us." Santana cut in, rolling her eyes and walking off. Brittany and Quinn followed her, and soon Rachel was left standing in the middle of the Belleville Wal-Mart by herself.

"So we need food, but what else were you thinking, Q?"

Quinn absently ran her fingers along the shelf of soup cans, picking up a few and dropping them into the shopping cart they'd picked up after abandoning Rachel.

"Camping gear – Berry's right about motels not being safe."

Santana sighed, before shrugging. "We could stay in one until they start looking for us. _If_ they start looking for us. You heard the radio, they think it was a botched break-in."

Brittany appeared in front of them from another aisle with her arms filled with candy. She dumped it all in the cart, before skipping off again with a bright smile.

"Yeah, we could, but everything leaves a trail Santana. Everything."

Santana huffed, crossing her arms as she perched on the edge of the shopping cart. Quinn added a little more pressure, pushing the cart easily with Santana's added weight on the front.

"I know that, I'm not an idiot. I've watched _CSI_, I know they find all kinds of shit now. But we're in another state, they're not looking for us, and things are going to get a lot worse soon. We should be comfortable while we can is all I'm saying."

Quinn hummed in acquiescence, adding more canned goods to the cart before turning it into another aisle.

"There's also the limited funds issue."

"Okay, so let me ask you this, Q: we've done something that's like, the _worst_ thing you can do, right?" Santana kept her eyes faced forward as she felt the cart beneath her jerk a little.

"Right." Quinn agreed after a moment, scanning the aisles either side of them for more things they could need. They'd have to get razors, and one of those portable stove top things and – god, gas canisters and tampons and –

"So why are we upholding the laws of a society when we've broken the biggest one?"

Quinn stopped the cart, and Santana hopped off of it, turning around with her eyebrows raised. Quinn's brow furrowed, and she squinted her eyes at the other girl.

"You're saying what exactly?"

"San? San! Quinn! Quinn?"

Brittany's voice called to them from the aisle they'd been in, and Santana smirked at Quinn and yelled, "Aisle twelve, Britts!" before raising her eyebrow.

"What, we _rob_ some place?"

Brittany skipped towards them, yet more candy in her arms, and dropped it all in the cart. She beamed at both of them, leaning over to give them each a peck on the cheek.

"This is really bad, but I'm so glad I'm with you guys." She blinked prettily, then gasped. "I'm going to find Rachel!"

Santana waited until Brittany was gone before shrugging at Quinn.

"I'm just saying we don't have to pussyfoot around price tags and crap because _hello_, worse comes to worse we get money the old fashioned way. No biggie." She shrugged and Quinn shook her head a little.

"Fine, worse comes to worse we resort to robbery," she bean pushing the cart again when Santana hopped back onto the front. "This just keeps getting better and better."

"On that, are you – you holding up okay?"

It was a touchy subject. Obviously. But Santana cared. She couldn't help it – she'd _killed_ because of it.

Quinn was silent for a while, feeling her eyes burning as she kept adding things to the cart and tried to think of a way to respond.

"I don't know," she said, finally, because she didn't. "Part of me is horrified; part of me's petrified; and part of me is just relieved."

Santana nodded her head, sighing when they ran into Brittany and Rachel at the end of the aisle. Rachel had a cart stocked with tents, sleeping bags, portable stove tops, some pans, toiletries, and what looked like – wigs?

"We're going to play dress ups!" Brittany said excitedly, putting one arm around Rachel and squeezing the smaller girl.

"We'll need disguises, eventually." Rachel supplied, blushing as Brittany kept a hold of her. This was different, this one armed friendship-hugging business.

"Fine." Quinn stated, inwardly impressed with everything Rachel had gotten.

"Let's get the fuck outs of here." Santana reached her hand out to Brittany, who immediately let go of Rachel, and off they sauntered.

"After you." Rachel offered softly, smiling tentatively at Quinn.

Quinn looked at Rachel for a moment, completely expressionless. Then, the smallest hint of a smile crept onto her face, and she inclined her head.

As Rachel watched Quinn walk in front of her, she analyzed the look she'd just been given over and over. It was a look of, what? Companionship? Camaraderie? Respect?

Whatever it was, it made a warmth creep up and over her skin because, finally, her enemy really _was_ gone. Sure, it had taken something _awful _to get them there but – here they were.

She didn't even balk at the total cost of their belongings, nor when Brittany chose a five CD compilation of songs from the nineties to take with them in the car. The wounds and scar tissue between Quinn and herself – that they'd caused each other – well, maybe they were finally healing.

It was the best metaphor she could think of.

And it was the _most_ important one.

O-O


	2. Part 1b

Quinn continued to drive, waving off Rachel's protestations about levels of energy and sharing responsibilities. They continued listening to the radio – despite Brittany waving the nineties compilation CD around in the back seat – while Santana wished for her phone and headphones.

Of course, Rachel had forbid them to bring their cell phones. She'd said something about GPS tracking and the FBI. Santana rolled her eyes – as she'd said to Quinn: she'd _watched_ CSI – but she could have at least put her iPhone on airplane mode and had some tunes or something.

Road trips were so boring without music. Every time a song came on the radio, Rachel or Quinn would flip the station until they hit one with news updates, or people talking.

Like, fine they'd spend the rest of their lives in jail for what they did. And fine, they should be freaking out more about it. But right now her world was the car, and the car was driving her fucking insane.

They headed west, turning south before hitting Jefferson City, Missouri, and stopping at Fort Leonard Wood. They were tired, and dreamt of hot showers and comfortable beds.

Sleeping bags and tents, though, would have to suffice.

"I still don't see why we can't stay in a motel." Santana grumbled as she lay over the VW's roof, eyes closed, and body soaking up the sunset.

Brittany was doing cartwheels over the field they'd stopped on while Quinn and Rachel erected the tents. At Santana's words, Rachel straightened and put her hands on her hips, glaring in the girl's direction.

"Either get off my roof and help us, or be quiet."

Santana flipped her the bird without raising her head, saying, "It's super cute when you think you can give me an ultimatum." Rachel huffed in response.

Quinn stepped back from the twin tents with a sigh. She'd have to share with the midget, though the thought wasn't _too_ terrible in light of everything else. And apparently they thought alike, which both pleased and disturbed her.

They cooked soup and noodles – though Santana and Britney ate a packet of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups and Twizzlers instead – and didn't bother saying goodnight to each other. They were looking at stars, anyway, and Quinn and Rachel were too tired to talk much.

"Quinn, I just wanted to say," Rachel whispered, snuggled deep in her sleeping bag and wishing she'd thought to buy a pillow. "I can't imagine what you're going through right now, and that I'm so sorry our lives have come to this. I know we've had our differences but this has – what I mean to say is, if you want to talk to me I'll be quiet and I'll listen."

She wasn't sure if the other girl was already asleep, or even if her voice had been loud enough. She could hear giggles and hushed voices from the girls outside the tent, and thought very briefly about Finn out there somewhere, and what he must think of them all. What he must think of her. Part of her desperately wished he was there with them – or she at least had a Brittany, or a Santana, to giggle and cuddle with through the hell their lives had become.

"Sometimes I think I'm coming to understand you, and then you say something and it throws me for a loop."

Rachel opened her mouth to respond, then pressed her lips together because she'd promised she'd be quiet.

"My parents were _awful_, Rachel, and while I can't even _think_ about what we did to them, it's still – just – _your_ parents are back home, they're alive, and they probably love you. I mean, look at that ridiculous car they bought you! They love you, and better than that, they _know_ you. And yet, here you are with a bunch of murderers asking me if _I'm_ okay."

There was a rustling as Quinn turned over, her face unreadable in the darkness, though as Rachel turned toward the voice she cold almost feel the exhalations of Quinn's breath on her face.

"And no, I'm not really," Quinn's voice was so soft, Rachel could barely hear her. "Before, at school, I was avoiding thinking about my future because it, I don't know, it seemed so _narrow_. Especially with you there, singing your heart out, week after week. I just – I always knew there wasn't much for me, after Beth. And _now?_ There's nothing, Rachel. There's being arrested, and the death penalty maybe, and a life behind bars, and it's all just –"

"Quinn –" Rachel's voice cracked.

"Two of the people I love most are now stuck with me. Trapped without a future, just like me. _Because_ of me. And you – the next Barbra Streisand or whatever – are stuck here too. So no, I'm not okay."

Quinn's voice had broken, and Rachel could hear her sniffling.

"I've ruined your lives, I've killed my parents, I don't have anyone left because my sister would hate me, and she's a bitch anyway. There's nowhere for us to go, but I have to figure _something_ out. I have to."

Rachel pulled her hand free of the sleeping bag, and reached toward where she approximated Quinn's face to be in the darkness. Quinn jerked away from the touch, roughly, and there was more rustling as if she was rolling back over.

"Don't. Just don't. Everything I touch turns to shit." The blonde mumbled, and Rachel felt a horrible squeezing feeling in her chest.

She wanted to reassure Quinn, to say something deeply profound and motivational, but there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. Because the blonde was right – her future was gone. Her dads would be – God, she couldn't even _imagine_ what they'd be thinking of her.

She racked her brain for anything that would offer a glimmer of hope. Had there been any globally successful performers with criminal records? Well, outside of rap, anyway. Or drug offences. Were murderers even _allowed_ on Broadway?

And where _were_ they going to go? South America or Canada were their only real options for escape, and she dismissed both straight away because the first thing criminals on the run did was head for the border, and that's where they were always caught. Even if they weren't being looked for yet – it had only been _two_ days – who knew what the police were withholding from the media?

Their best bet would be to stay off the major highways, to change or at least modify her car even though the thought alone caused her great emotional distress – considerably _less_ than going to prison for a substantial amount of time, though – and, somehow, to stop Santana from being such a bitch toward her.

She could give herself the tiniest of mental high fives, though, what with Quinn opening up to her. That was something of an accomplishment.

Maybe, just maybe, things would work out. They could travel across middle America until they found a nice, quiet town in the middle of nowhere. They could cut and dye their hair, adopt accents, and become entirely different people. Then, in five or so years, she could contact her fathers and apologize profusely. They would understand, because by then they'd simply miss her too much to express any shame in her role in the Fabray's murder.

While Santana seemed to think otherwise, it was clear the Latina hadn't watched as many true crime shows as she had – her daddy, Hiram, was morbidly obsessed with them and every Wednesday night they'd watch an episode or true crime movie together while her dad, Leroy, refused to even step foot in the living room – so she knew her role was still a convictable offence.

Thinking about her dads made her ache. Thinking about Lima made her ache. What they all must think...

And yet, there was the smallest flurry of excitement that here she was in the middle of nowhere lying next to ex-Head Cheerleader Quinn Fabray.

Perhaps it was for the best that Finn wasn't there, after all. He'd only get between them, as he always did.

* * *

><p>Brittany curled her body around Santana's, sighing contentedly as the Latina ran her fingertips over the muscles on the blonde's back.<p>

She knew murder was so, so wrong. But she had her San back, almost completely properly – they hadn't kissed since before she broke up with Artie, because friendship was important first – and that made the little hole in her heart feel full again. It'd been just like when they were younger and went on camping trips together – eating nothing but candy, looking at the stars and picking out shapes, staying up way past their parents going to bed – and now they snuggled in their tent. Santana had unzipped both sleeping bags, and they used one to lay on and one as a blanket.

Santana was so warm anyway. It must've been all the chilli her mom made her eat.

Brittany loved chilli.

Brittany loved Santana.

She wondered if Quinn and Rachel were sleeping the same as them, or if they were in their own bags. She hoped it was the first one – everyone needed a cuddle buddy.

The thought of Quinn, though, made her think about what they'd done. Quinn's dad had been so angry and strong, and her mom was just – it made her feel sick, so she stopped thinking about it.

She turned her nose to Santana's collarbone and breathed in. It always worked when she had nightmares, when they were younger, and it worked again now. Because her thoughts were like a nightmare, in a way, except instead of being something scary that _could_ happen, it was something awful that _had_.

As if reading her mind, Santana's arms tightened around her body, and just like that her mind was clear of badness and full of the other girl.

"I'm so happy you're here." She murmured against the skin on Santana's chest, unwilling to take her nose away in case the nightmare thoughts returned.

She felt Santana's lips against her forehead, and again thanked God, or Santa, or anyone listening, that she had her back. She'd loved Artie, she really had. She'd cared about breaking his heart, and even though he was mean to her sometimes, she knew he didn't really mean it. He was sweet, and kind, and had such a nice smile.

But she knew, too, that she had to stay with him until they ended. She'd watched Finn, Quinn and Rachel bicker amongst each other because Finn kept swapping between them without properly ending things, and that was so bad. It made everyone cry or kick chairs. It was stupid.

She'd seen the end with Artie, and now she was back in the middle with Santana. Sort of. Almost. They'd be kissing again soon, and it would be even more awesome than the last time.

She just knew. There was no end with Santana.

There never would be.

O-O

In the morning, Santana took over the driver's seat and turned them south. Quinn refused to relinquish her spot next to the radio, however.

"_... and in breaking news, four teenage girls have been reported missing from Lima, Ohio, connected to the Fabray murder that shocked the state just days ago. The couple's youngest daughter and three school friends have not been seen since the murder took place..."_

Brittany and Rachel had been talking about Lord Tubbington in the backseat – Rachel just adored cats, having been heartbroken at seven years old when her Daddy told her he was allergic and they could never have one – when the radio announcement began.

Quinn had been gazing out of the passenger window and watching the countryside – wondering where they could go, and how she could make it so they came out of it okay. Well, _she_ wouldn't be okay, but maybe they could be?

Santana had her elbow resting on the window, calculating how long it would take them to drive to the Mexican border. It was their best bet, and she spoke Spanish. Win, win.

Now they were all frozen.

"_...Officials urge any civilians with information on the missing girls – Santana Lopez, Brittany Pierce, Rachel Berry, and Quinn Fabray – to call their local law enforcement immediately..._"

"Motherfucker!" Santana hissed, hitting the steering wheel.

Quinn quickly turned the radio off.

"I think," Rachel began slowly. "It might be a good time for wigs. They have our names, so no doubt they have our details and pictures."

Santana turned the car around, and drove them back to the camping spot they'd been in the night before. Her paranoia had escalated, and with good reason – now the chances of a S.W.A.T. team dropping out of the sky were a hell of a whole lot better.

They drove deeper into Fort Leonard Wood until the car was mostly hidden by trees.

Rachel rummaged through a bag in the trunk, victoriously pulling out a deep red wig and handing it to Brittany.

"They'll be looking for two blondes and two brunettes, so we make it two redheads, a blonde and a brunette. With your skin tone, Santana, I don't believe you'd make a believable blonde or redhead." Rachel shrugged, and Santana glared at her from where she leaned against a tree trunk with her arms crossed. "Quinn – you'll also be a redhead, as your photo will have particular emphasis on account of yours being the parents who were murdered."

"Right." Quinn drawled, leaning against Rachel's car. She had her hands on her hips, and was watching as one of her feet scuffed the forest ground.

"You, Berry? A blon –" Santana held her hand up, shaking her head. "Wait, let me get this straight. I can't be a blonde because Latina's can't be blonde – according to you – but _you're_ meant to be believable?"

"Well, I –" Rachel started, before Quinn pushed herself off of the car and strode toward her.

"This is stupid, Berry. Wigs won't stop the police from finding us. _Nothing_ will. We need a plan."

Rachel clutched the blonde wig in her hand tighter.

"But –"

"Mexico." Santana pushed herself off of the tree, and walked to stand next to Quinn. Brittany was wearing her wig, and frowning at them.

"No, they'll get us at the border. It's the first place they crack down on." Quinn chewed her bottom lip for a moment.

"The wigs could –"

"Shut up, Berry."

"Shut up, troll."

Santana and Quinn turned back to each other as Rachel sighed. Brittany gave her a one armed hug, and smiled brightly at her.

"They're in scheming mode, so it's best to wait until they stop otherwise they get super cranky."

"We find a spot along the border and sneak over. Dead of night. They don't care about people getting out, only in." Santana shrugged. "We lay low, maybe travel through South America –"

"Can we go to Machu Picchu?" Brittany squeezed Rachel in excitement.

"Hells yes we can, Britts. I'll even get you a donkey."

"I vote that one!" Brittany let Rachel go, and held her arm high in the air.

Quinn frowned.

"Back to reality for a second – your plan is for us to sneak across the Mexican Border in the dark and go backpacking across South America?" Quinn raised her eyebrows, and Santana smirked. "And this is a plan for _not_ getting arrested for murder?" The other girl nodded again. "_This_ is why you were never Head Cheerleader."

Santana's smirk dropped off of her face.

Rachel gasped. This was _so_ dramatic. She was on Quinn's side. Whatever her plan, that was her vote. They were similar enough. If Quinn's plan wasn't spectacular, she would win the girl over with her own – since Option Donkey, and whatever Brittany would present, weren't exactly competition.

"First of all, they have our pictures. Our _pictures_, Santana. And where are they going to go first? Every police station in the country; every airport; and to border patrol. If Mexico was an option, it stopped being one as soon as they announced us missing."

Rachel had never seen Quinn like this. She'd been privy to the receiving ends of these apparent scheming sessions, but had never witnessed their birth. This was Quinn in her element – knocking someone else's suggestion down. Ripping it, really, into pieces. She wondered if this was how people felt when she sang.

"Even if we made it now – even if the wigs worked – how long do you think we'd last before they connect us to the murder and show our pictures to the rest of the world? We don't have passports, we don't have much cash, all the identification we have is real since Shue made us promise not to drink anymore and Coach locked Puck out of the laminating room."

"Sorry I vomited all over you." Brittany said quietly.

"It –" Rachel started, but stopped when Quinn continued.

"We don't have any options other than hiding." Quinn threw her hands up, and Rachel leapt at the chance to speak.

"That is exactly right, I fully concur and in fact already have a plan in mind for our hideout options. If we could find a very, very small town – one barely a blip on the map, even – and fabricate new identities – with the help of the wigs, of course, and perhaps a different accent or two – we could surely evade capture until the heat dies down and we are filed as a cold case. We wait," she pretended as if her hands were a scale, moving one up and one down. "Five," she swapped them over. "Ten years, and then we contact our families."

She eyed each girl, giving them all an encouraging smile.

"No." Santana said flatly, and turned back to Quinn. "So you shit all over my awesome idea, and offer only, 'we hide'? You're losing your touch, Fabray, because I was under the assumption that was painfully obvious."

"Even I knew that." Brittany mumbled.

"Excuse me Santana, but you can't just disregard me like that." Rachel folded her arms across her chest, and Santana glanced at her.

"Always have, always will." She began examining her fingernails, sounding almost nonchalant. "As I was saying, I think having a plan is better than _not_ having a plan, because Q? You ain't offering up a plan. Now, we gets in the gay mobile, and we head to Mexico. Should get there in a day – maybe less if we don't stop to sleep – then we gets our border hopping on."

"Santana, you're being ridiculous. My plan has a much higher chance of –"

"What part of 'no' don't you get, Streisand? You don't have a say in this, and you want to know why?" Santana now pointed her finger at Rachel's face, stepping closer. "Because you didn't do shit. It was me, Britts, and Q here and you just happened to be there. You just happened to have your car. You shouldn't be here. So shut your goddamned muppet head and let us sort this out."

"It's called being an accessory to a murder, though I assumed something as basic as that was already ingrained into your cultural awareness. I witnessed it, I even offered help. So don't you tell me that I –" Rachel stepped closer to Santana. They were almost nose to nose.

"Oh please, it's just who you are. You're pathetic, Berry. The McKinley yearbook is like a Where's Waldo of your shnoz. You're in the Renaissance Club, the Glee Club, the Drama Club, the _freaking_ African Student Union, and yet you have no friends. Not one. You're a _leech_. You hang onto everybody else but you don't belong with anyone. You just tag along, but standing next to someone – being in a _club_ – doesn't make you their friend, and it sure as hell doesn't mean they want you around."

"San!" Brittany gasped.

"You don't belong with us, dwarf, because what you're running away from isn't _nearly_ as bad as what we are."

Rachel felt tears brimming in her eyes, and though the sneer stayed on the Latina's lips, her eyes softened a little.

"Be happy, it means you can go back home and follow your precious little dreams."

Rachel shook her head, hiccupping slightly as a sob tried to break it's way through her throat.

"I just wanted to help." She looked at Quinn beseechingly – they'd been agreeing on things, surely this was no exception.

Quinn was gazing at her, a far off look in her eyes.

"She's right," she said, finally. "Santana is right. You don't belong with us, Rachel."

Even through the sinking feeling in her chest, she appreciated that Quinn had used her first name.

"Are you – are you going to kill me?" Rachel gulped, and Santana squinted her eyes at the shorter girl before stepping out of her space.

"No, freak. I already said you could go home." Santana opened the trunk of Rachel's car, and began pulling out the camping gear again. "We should stay here for now, figure out what to do with the midget later."

Brittany rubbed Rachel's back as she moved past her to help Santana set up the tents.

"Quinn?" Rachel gazed hopefully at the blonde, but Quinn was lost in thought.

O-O

Rachel sat mostly by herself for the rest of the day, trying desperately not to cry. She would be charged, regardless of what Santana said. And now they all wanted to abandon her? Not to mention Santana's words. They had hurt, because the girl was partly right – she belonged to all those clubs, and yet didn't really belong in a single one of them. Except Glee Club.

Except where the three other girls had also belonged. They were in it together. Weren't they?

Quinn was meant to have agreed with her – surely after a speech on how the law worked meant Quinn understood her role was still counted as an offence? She wouldn't be dreaming of Broadway; she'd be dreaming of her prison sentence coming to an end.

"Quinn, please don't do this." She whispered later that night, as Quinn stepped into their tent. Rachel had refused to sit with the others, retiring as soon as it was dark.

Quinn sighed, unzipping her sleeping bag, and settling into it.

"It's for the best, okay?"

Rachel propped herself up on one elbow, leaning toward the other girl in the dark.

"No, it isn't. I'm going to jail, whether it's with you or not. You know that."

"Can we talk about it tomorrow?" Quinn asked, after a beat, and Rachel felt a flicker of hope in her chest – at least Quinn was willing to talk about it.

"Okay." Rachel answered softly, and tried her best to sleep.

O-O

Rachel was nervously wringing her hands together the next morning, trying to be patient as Santana made 'smores for breakfast off the portable stove top flame. Rachel wanted to point out it was a waste of gas, as well as a nutritionally deficit meal, but she figured they wouldn't listen to her, anyway.

The cheerleaders seemed to eat in slow motion, and Quinn still had that far away look on her face.

"I say we take you to the next town, and that's it." Santana announced finally, when Rachel's bouncing leg started to approximate a jackhammer.

"No." Quinn replied quickly. "No, I have a better idea than that."

"Do tell." Santana offered, gesturing at Quinn with her hand.

Brittany was chewing on a Twizzler, and gave the other blonde her best concentration face.

Rachel felt her heart thudding in her chest, and wondered if the constant stress she'd experienced since the night before was an inducing a heart attack.

"We take her back to Ohio. Not Lima, but close. We stay off major highways, keep camping. It'll maybe take a day or two, since we'll only drive at night." Quinn turned her eyes to Rachel's. "When they find you, you'll tell them we kidnapped you."

"What in the hell –"

Quinn held her hand up. "Her me out, S. Berry says we kidnapped her – they won't find any evidence of hers on my p-, the bodies and they can't charge her if she says we forced her to help us."

"No way." Santana bit out, and Quinn held her hand up again.

"Let me _finish._ Berry wants to help? This is what she's going to – Rachel, this is what _you're_ going to do; tell them what happened. You tell them our side, let them know it was self defense. We'll still be arrested, but it'll be a lesser charge. It'll be the best we can get. You were a witness – as a hostage, _not_ an accomplice."

"I don't understand. Why would they believe me?" Rachel was intrigued, she hadn't thought of this.

"Because we have a history of hating each other. We're not friends – but me, Britts and S? We're the _Unholy Trinity_. No one would believe you came with us willingly. No one. So you get your life back, and still help us. We can't leave the country, and only stay hidden so long. So this is what we do."

They were all silent.

"_Now_, I'm finished." Quinn supplied.

Santana appraised Quinn; there was the old scheming HBIC.

Rachel opened her mouth, then closed it. It was a good plan – though it would really only benefit herself. The others would still become convicts, their lives were still limited to one spent serving time and then rehabilitating. They would have trouble finding steady employment; would carry this on their record for the rest of their lives.

But she would have Broadway, again. Perhaps even a better shot at it after the media sensation this was sure to create. She would have to give interviews; not just to the police, but the media too.

"Whatever." Santana said, dismissively, and Quinn gave her a small smile. It was as good of a yes as she was going to get.

Brittany stood and pulled Rachel into a standing position, hugging her tightly.

"You can go see Lord Tubbington, and tell him I love him and he better still be on his diet."

Rachel was torn between relief and regret. As Brittany gave her one last squeeze – the most genuine hug she had ever received from another female – Rachel thought that both Quinn and Santana were wrong, she _did_ have friends. Even if they didn't think she was one of theirs, these three had suddenly become the best friends she had ever had.

Well, except Santana.

O-O

As Quinn drove that night, they kept the radio on as much to listen for further developments as to stay awake.

They were all, barring the driver, still a little uncertain of the plan they were now undertaking. Santana was going to insist Quinn reconsider them at least finding a destination other than jail once Rachel was gone; Brittany was trying to figure out how they could trade Rachel for Lord Tubbington since he loved being in the car and she missed him.

Rachel was still torn, until:

"_... Police have confirmed that the missing teens from Lima, Ohio – Santana Lopez, Brittany Pierce, Rachel Berry, and Quinn Fabray – are alleged to be heavily involved in the murder of Judith and Russell Fabray. Police are urging citizens to report any sightings of a gold VW with the license plate..._"

They were all, barring the driver, still a little uncertain until that announcement. It was like they'd all been slushied, head to toe.

Quinn was right; this was their best bet.

O-O

They headed south, deciding not to double back on roads they'd already traveled. People would've seen the car, and even if they hadn't, maybe the police would figure they were headed west and they'd have more of a chance to approach Ohio from the south.

Santana drove, Quinn relinquishing the radio now she'd heard what she'd been waiting for. Brittany was ecstatic – now they could play her CDs!

With the Backstreet Boys blaring, and Brittany dancing happily in her seat, there wasn't much room for talking. Rachel wasn't really sure what to say; Quinn had said enough; Santana was too preoccupied with laughing at Brittany.

And so they continued, stopping just before the sun set and doing their best to hide the car from view of the road.

Quinn was the one to retire first that night, and seemed already asleep by the time Rachel joined her.

Santana and Brittany spread a sleeping bag on the grass, and watched the sun rise, softly murmuring and giggling to each other. It was if, now they had a plan, they could relax a little.

Not completely. Just a little.

O-O

They needed more gas.

No one protested when Rachel suggested they pull over a quarter of a mile before they hit the next gas station, and one of them walk up with a gas can in case this attendant wasn't so stoned and recognized the car.

No one protested, either, when Rachel declared whoever went would have to wear one of the disguises.

Santana, Brittany, and Quinn watched as the diva strode off toward the lights of the gas station. After all, Rachel had seemed excited at the prospect of finally getting to wear one of her wigs, and it wasn't as if they were all fighting over who got the chance to risk getting caught.

Rachel had carefully tied her hair back, and donned a long curly blonde wig. She'd fished a denim skirt and jacket out of the trunk – the matching set included bedazzled seams – and finished her look with a cowboy hat. Santana didn't even protest when she realized the shorter girl was wearing her boots.

"Well howdy, y'all!" Rachel said brightly, adopting a southern accent she'd been working on since seeing _Oklahoma!_ at the age of ten.

The gas station was empty – the attendant reclining with his feet up and eyes glued to the small television set on the counter beside his feet.

"I had a spot of car trouble out there on the highway, Lordy me, my luck! I'll tell ya, just as well I was so close to a gas station!" Rachel gave the attendant a look of relief – though he didn't even glance at her. He barely even grunted. "So I'll just be filling my gas can here, and I'll be – off on my way. Back to my ranch. In the south."

Well, the least he could do was pay her some attention – she'd put effort into this persona. Sue-Ellen Maybell was a brilliant character, and her accent was _flawless_. She wondered if she could somehow put this on her resume?

She supposed she had no right to grumble as she filled the gas can, rummaging in her pocket for the crumpled bills she'd stuffed in them. But some people didn't appreciate effort, nor the lengths she went to, and it was sad, really. The ex-Cheerios would've benefited from her presence and acting expertise, greatly. She couldn't exactly see Santana masquerading as a cowgirl just to get them gas undetected.

"Well, that's all I'll be needing, thank you kindly. Just the gas. And – oh, maybe this here –" but the words stopped in her mouth when she saw what was on the television screen. Her hand froze mid-reach for a chocolate bar – it was part of her disguise, no one would believe vegan Rachel Berry would willingly purchase a product made from the suffering of cows and their babies – because Mr Shue was on the screen, and he looked like he was crying.

"Eight-seventy-three." The attendant mumbled, glancing away from the television to look at her momentarily.

Of course, it had to be the moment she broke character.

"Yes, of – of course let me just count out my – I hope I brought enough –" she barely bit back a groan as Sue Sylvester filled the screen, glaring at her through the television as if looking directly into her soul.

The attendant was back to watching it, and Rachel willed her hands to stop shaking.

"_... I'm smoking because of you..."_

Her head whipped toward the television screen as Noah Puckerman stalked away from the screen. She quickly counted out a five dollar bill, and four singles.

"Keep the change!" She tried to keep her voice sounding bright, though her accent had suddenly turned from cowgirl to Southern Belle.

She felt her face flush as the yearbook photos they'd taken weeks earlier filled the screen. Quinn and Santana on the top, and herself and Brittany underneath. She suddenly wished for sunglasses.

"Bye y'all!" She called quickly, hiding her face as she power walked away from the counter; through the doors; away from the station.

She doubled back, running to where she'd left the gas can, and picking it up. Santana's boots were a little big, so she tore them off her feet and began to run back to where she thought the car was.

* * *

><p>Santana wanted to laugh at the image of Rachel hurtling towards them with the cowboy hat and her boots in one hand, a tank of gas in the other, and her wig askew. But then, she always wanted to laugh at the diva.<p>

"We're on the news – Mr Shue was – Coach Sylvester!" Rachel panted, fumbling near the back of her car, and lifting the can of gas.

"Berry, slow down! What happened?" Quinn snapped, leaning across the backseat so she could see the smaller girl through the car window.

"Noah is smoking!" Rachel blurted, and Santana frowned.

"What? No he isn't. He'd never – not after his Pappy – what the hell are you talking about, Dolly Parton?" Santana started the engine as the trunk of the car slammed shut, and Berry hurriedly climbed into the backseat.

"There was a television in the gas station, and Mr Shue, Coach Sylvester and Noah Puckerman were on the screens. He was smoking, and Mr Shue was crying. Coach Sylvester looked her usual maniacal self. But it was about us – they showed our yearbook pictures – we –" Rachel was talking so fast, all Brittany registered was a high pitched whine.

"Berry, calm down." Quinn reached her hand over, laying it on Rachel's shoulder. It was entirely unexpected, and so shocking that Rachel immediately shut up. Quinn was initiating friendly contact with her. With _her_. "This works with our plan, okay? Could you make out what was being said?"

The shorter girl took a few deep breaths, and tried to organize her thoughts.

"It was a news special, and it looked like people we know – knew – are being interviewed. Mr Shue was, I don't know, blaming himself, I think. He said something about whether he'd let us down? Then Coach Sylvester gave a typical rant – she blames your behavior on quitting the Cheerios – and it finished with Noah blaming us for smoking. There was a – a strong emphasis on blame."

Quinn nodded, absently stroking Rachel's shoulder as she processed what the girl had told them.

Santana was frowning, deeply. She'd been with Puck when his grandfather had died of emphysema, and while she'd used the boy mostly to distract herself from just how _strong_ her feelings for Brittany were becoming, she still _cared_ about him.

Brittany just felt bad. Mr Shue wasn't to blame. Russell and Judy were to blame, for being so horrible. Mr Shue was her _friend_.

"It's okay, Berry. This works with our plan, okay? They probably interviewed the whole Glee Club – maybe even Figgins – and that'll just help with your story." Quinn chewed her lip, deliberating. "Especially if they talked to Finn."

Quinn was right, again. It was more that –

Suddenly, what they were about to do, what _Rachel_ was about to do, seemed a lot more real. She was going to have to say goodbye to Quinn, to Brittany. Sure, to Santana as well, though Rachel was certain Santana would've kicked her out onto the road miles ago if she'd gotten her way.

Still, this was going to be the greatest acting challenge of her life. Because she _had_ been there, she _believed_ it was self defense. But they hadn't kidnapped her, and she still felt partly at fault for the whole thing.

"By the way, we're going to need to get more gas tomorrow night." Santana mused from the driver's seat.

"Fantastic." Rachel muttered.

"Can I be the cowgirl this time?" Brittany asked, and Santana smiled before turning the music back up.

Quinn kept her hand on Rachel's shoulder – it was as comforting to her as to the shorter girl – and smiled, just barely, in amusement. The wig on Rachel's head was lopsided, and the girl kept brushing long blonde strands back behind her ears as if she'd forgotten she was even wearing it.

O-O

They drove through Kentucky while the sky was dark, stopping just before the Ohio border when the sun began to rise.

They set up camp as a foursome for the last time – Rachel feeling oddly more emotional about leaving the others than she had so far about anything else. Like murder, or being on the run, or her future being ruined.

She wasn't sure what had happened to her priorities.

Still, she was excited to see her fathers again. Excited to see Finn, and go back to McKinley and –

She had _so_ much study to catch up on.

Quinn felt more relaxed than she had in a few days. Her guilt was easing, somewhat. The once insufferable diva was back on course, and the girl she'd spent the first half of her high school career tormenting had a good chance for making things okay again.

She hadn't told Santana and Brittany yet, and she wouldn't, but as soon as they were arrested she was going to take full responsibility for what had happened. She would argue that the girls had come to her defense, but that she instigated the violence against her parents. Santana and Brittany would get off on justifiable homicide, and she would go to prison.

Which, well, wasn't exactly ideal but it wasn't the worst thing that could happen, either. She could do one of those prison college courses, and she almost snorted when she realized that her ticket to a degree all along was just killing her parents.

It was a beautiful, sunny day, and the four of them cooked up more soup and ate more peanut butter cups – though Brittany was getting anxious that the candy supply was dwindling – and for a few hours that morning, in the sunshine, they were just four girls on a camping trip.

Santana even gave Rachel a smile, before they all climbed into their tents to get some rest before the big night ahead of them. The smile was a little derisive, but it was a smile nonetheless.

The singing midget _was_ useful, after all.

O-O

"Okay, Berry you go in and ask to use a phone. Call your dads, tell them you're just outside Beavercreek –"

Santana snorted loudly, and Quinn rolled her eyes.

"When you've hung up, come back outside and wave your arm. We'll take off, and that'll be it. It's an hour and half from Lima, though your dads will call the police so you'll probably be picked up from here within ten minutes. Okay?"

Rachel gulped, nodding her head at Quinn. Impulsively, she lurched forward and grabbed the blonde in a tight hug. Quinn awkwardly patted Rachel on the back, before she relaxed and squeezed the small girl back.

Brittany twisted her body through the gap in the front seats, and kissed Rachel's cheek, wrapping her arms around Quinn and Rachel and locking the three of them together.

Santana kept her eyes on the roadhouse a hundred yards from where they'd shut off the car, and drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. The sooner they were gone, the better.

"Thank you." Rachel said hoarsely, untangling herself from the blonde cheerleaders and taking steadying breaths as she opened her car door. "You can have everything, the car and my belongings – the wigs –"

Quinn gave her a shooing motion with her hands, smiling encouragingly. If Finn could see them now...

* * *

><p>"Excuse me, do you have a phone I could use?" Rachel asked politely, trying not to stare at the décor of the truck stop with as little disdain as possible. It was near midnight, and aside from the greasy looking cook standing in the kitchen, there were three other burly looking men sitting at separate tables.<p>

The cook ignored her, and as she met the eyes of one of the patrons, she decided she would just find the phone herself and get this over and done with. They gave her the creeps.

She walked around the back of the dingy little roadhouse, eyeing what she could of the area behind the counter and wondering where the phone could be. Her best bet was probably the kitchen, though her heart-rate picked up at the thought of letting herself back there. It was silly – she knew it was silly – but kitchens in establishments were strictly off limits to the general public, and it made her pause a little. She would check the bathrooms first, maybe there was a pay phone back there?

It was a good plan – exhaust all possibilities until she had no choice but to invade the grimy kitchen with the greasy cook and call for salvation.

Yes, it was a very good plan. Until the patron who had made eye contact with her followed her.

"Hey little girl," he said, grinning, and Rachel suddenly wished she _had_ gone into the kitchen.

"I'm – I'm not a little girl, sir, and I would appreciate if you would excuse –" she stopped speaking as he stepped closer, looking her up and down.

"I seen your picture on the news." He rumbled, and she likened his eyes to those of a rodent's.

She looked behind her, seeing only the end wall of the corridor she'd walked in to find the restrooms.

"I'm not sure what you're –" she started, before clearing her throat. "Yes, I was kidnapped –"

"Where are your friends? Or you kill them too?" He was slowly starting to invade her personal space, and she wished Quinn or Santana had walked in with her.

"I didn't kill any –" she stammered, trying not to breathe through her nose.

"You sure are a little thing, how'd you do it, huh? You like stabbing that fella up there?" The man had her backed into the wall, her heart hammering in her chest.

This was bad. This _filthy_ man was at least three times her body weight, and there was still no phone in sight.

He reached out an arm, resting his hand just next to her head and leaning into her.

"He touch you? Is that what he did? Why you stuck him?" He sniffed her hair, and she fought the urge to gag. He smelt acrid – like he hadn't showered in days, coupled with something bitter, almost chemical like, and motor oil.

She couldn't speak, her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

His voice dropped, and he grabbed her suddenly, turning her back to him and pressing into her.

"Did he fuck you, girl? Huh? You and your pretty little murderin' bitch friends?"

His arm pinned her against him, and she managed to scream as he dragged her into the restroom closest to him.

"Goin' to get myself a reward for catchin' a killer, that's what I'm goin' to do." He was chuckling into her hair, and still breathing in. "Soon as I saw your sweet little whore faces on the teevee I thought, those girls need a lesson, and I know exactly what kind of lesson they be needin'."

She couldn't scream any longer, something was pressing into her throat and there was a slight sting as she swallowed. It had to be a knife, or something sharp, and something was digging into her lower back from between the man's hips – her mind went blind with panic when realized what it was.

"You smell real nice for a killer."

The hard thing pressed into her again, and she caught a whiff of his breath as his mouth moved to the side of her face.

This was _not_ how this was meant to go. She should be talking to her dads right now, bemoaning her kidnapped existence and telling them she'd managed to get away while the other girls were sleeping.

She had _not_ factored being raped into the equation.

The man was tall, almost as tall as Finn, and a memory shot through her from the costume party Puck had thrown at the end of the previous summer. Puck had dressed as Tarzan – substituting a male thong for a loin cloth – and she'd gone as Sandy to Finn's Danny from _Grease_.

She'd been standing by the pool, watching as Puck had thrust his hips towards Quinn and Santana as they ignored him on matching lounge chairs. The Unholy Trinity had arrived as a unit, each in bikini tops and claiming to be Charlie's Angels. At had been as if, since Nationals in New York, the three of them had reconnected.

As she'd watched them – wondering, in the back of her mind, what they were saying to each other as the girls laughed – someone had grabbed her from behind. Her self defense training had kicked in, and she'd driven an elbow into her assailant.

Finn had limped for a week afterward, and spent the rest of the party with an ice pack over his crotch.

She'd felt so guilty, then.

But now she was grateful for the memory. It broke through her fear, and suddenly she knew what to do. She moved her hips to the side, feeling the knife against her throat cut a little deeper, and bent her elbow, slamming it into the hardness she'd felt with as much strength as she could muster.

And just like that, the filthy man behind her let go.

She spun around, heart beating wildly, as he doubled over and fell to the floor. He dropped the knife, squealing in pain.

It should have ended there. She should have run back out to the car, gotten in, and told them to drop her somewhere else. She should have just left it.

But the thing was, her body was in fight or flight mode. She had just had a dirty, overpowering stranger hold a knife to her throat and insinuate he was going to _rape _her. Not just that, but that Russell Fabray had raped all of them and –

It was almost an out of body experience as she grabbed the knife from the floor and raised it over her head. She was just so _outraged_. Her fear had switched into anger.

How _dare_ he threaten her, she thought, bring the knife down as hard as she could into the man's back.

How _dare_ he cut her throat – she might never be able to sing again – and press his erection into her back as if it wasn't the most disgusting thing he could do.

She pulled the knife out, bringing it down again. Dimly, she registered that she was screaming.

How many girls had he done this to?

She stabbed him again.

What, did he think it was _okay_ to rape her because she was wanted for murder? That no one would care?

Again, and again, and again.

She was a _virgin_, she was going to make love to her boyfriend slash fiancé at twenty-five and lose that virginity in a beautiful and moving experience, and this _pig_ had almost –

The restroom door swung open, and there was another one of the patrons, come to investigate the fucked up noises he'd heard from the bathroom.

"Holy shit!" He cried, back-peddling quickly at the scene before him of the teenage girl crouched over a gurgling, bloody body.

Rachel froze, breathing hard, mind scrambling to adjust to what was happening. Except, all she could think was that she was meant to be calling her dads and saving the day for everyone, and someone had seen her, and was going to ruin it.

She ran after him, pushing through the door, and leaping onto the fleeing man's back as he rounded the counter and headed for the front.

The knife must've still been in her hands, because it was now being brought down on someone else. But it was necessary, because they had a _plan_, and she'd just nearly been _raped_, and this was _not_ how things were meant to go.

She didn't even hear the bell tinkling as the third patron ran out of the front door and towards his truck.

Didn't register, either, the grimy cook from the kitchen sneaking toward her with a kitchen knife in his hand until he was standing over her.

"Get the fuck –" he started to say, before there was a loud crack and he slumped onto his knees, falling sideways.

Rachel blinked, her outrage fading, and feeling like she'd just woken from a horrible dream.

She looked at the slumped body of the cook; the bloodied man beneath her; and finally her neck craned up to see what had made the cracking noise.

There, with a splatter of blood droplets over her cheek, stood Quinn Fabray holding a softball bat.

"Come on," her voice was raspy, her chest heaving. As Rachel stood, Quinn glanced around the truck stop and then strode toward the cash register, leaning over and hitting the No Sale button. She stuffed her pockets with the cash inside it, then headed back toward the front door.

Rachel was standing immobile, staring at the body at her feet. She dropped the knife from her hand, as if in disgust, and began to shake.

"Come _on_!" Quinn reiterated, grabbing Rachel's elbow and dragging her toward the door.

They stumbled back toward the car. Santana had turned the ignition on as soon as Quinn had decided to investigate what was taking Rachel so long, and was more than prepared to burn rubber if the diva had fucked them over in any way and had already called the cops without signaling them.

But seeing Quinn with a dazed looking Rachel in one hand, and _her_ softball bat – is _that_ what Quinn had gotten from the trunk before heading to the roadhouse? – threw all sorts of anti-Rachel thoughts out of the window. Because the girl was covered with blood. A _lot_ of blood.

Much like she had been after stabbing the shit out of Russell Fabray.

"Go!" Quinn bit out, shoving Rachel into the backseat and jumping in behind her.

The VW's tires spun in the dirt for a moment, before the car peeled off.

"What the fuck happened?" Santana called to the backseat, as Brittany twisted around to look at the girls with wide eyes.

"Don't ask, and you're going the wrong way!" Quinn called back, looking Rachel over and wincing when she noticed the cuts on the girl's neck.

"Fuck!" Santana yelled, having forgotten to turn around and head _away_ from Lima instead of _towards_.

The wheels spun as she attempted a hand break turn – she'd played _Midnight Club: Los Angeles_ with Puck plenty of times since she'd stopped fucking him, and was having a lot more fun – which caused the car to make a sickening grinding sound and bunny hop a little, before she regained control and was able to turn them around.

"Is Rachel okay?" Brittany asked softly, concern written all over her face because Rachel looked bad. Really bad. All bloody, and shaking.

"Berry, are you okay?" Quinn whispered, running her hands over the other girl's shoulders, trying to urge her to make eye contact. "What happened?"

But Rachel couldn't talk.

"Fuck! Fuck!" Santana yelled again as they approached the roadhouse, and Quinn glanced at it, seeing the cook holding the back of his head and stumbling toward the road.

Santana reacted on instinct – swinging the wheel toward the injured cook, and flooring it.

Everyone screamed – Santana as her hands gripped the wheel; Brittany as she turned to look at what they were driving at; Quinn from the back seat with her hands still gripping Rachel's shoulders; and Rachel, who suddenly found her voice again.

They hit the cook with a sickening thump. He was already half bent over, so they ended up driving _over_ him.

Santana hit the breaks, shifted the car into reverse, and slammed her foot onto the gas pedal.

They bumped up and over the cook's body again, and Santana threw the car into first and hurtled back toward the road.

"So much for the fucking _plan_." Santana breathed, as the roadhouse was left far, far behind them.

Yes, they all agreed, so much for the plan.


	3. Part 2a

**Part Two – Well It's Too Late To Say You're Sorry**

"The Fabray murder case deepens with confirmed sightings of the vehicle belonging to Rachel Berry – one of four suspects in an horrific double homicide, followed by a triple homicide just one week later – outside of Crawfordsville, Indiana. Chuck Baker, an employee of McDonald's, called police after he claimed to have served the girls. The call was dismissed as police stations all over the country were bombarded with similar witness accounts. However, footage from the highway-side restaurant has been released to the media this morning with clear images of the four girls buying breakfast goods through the drive-through window. Sheriff William Brewster had this to say:"

Cut to the Sheriff, who gazes gravely into the camera. As he talks, his mustache twitches over his top lip.

"These are not usual teenage girls. They appear completely remorseless. Footage provided by the McDonald's store shows the girls smiling and laughing as they purchase their breakfast just hours after committing murder. They will not evade capture for long. We urge citizens to remain vigilant, and above all, to _not_ approach them under any circumstances."

Jessalyn Briggs' brow furrows as her face appears once more.

"Following the murders in Beavercreek, Ohio, concerned citizens are enacting a neighborhood watch scheme. The three men killed just yesterday have been identified, and their families today grieve their senseless loss. Once again we here at Channel 43 urge viewers to be careful. These girls appear untamed, and extremely dangerous. Reverend Holt Granger joins us in the studio, welcome Reverend."

Reverend Holt Granger has sandy blonde hair, and kind eyes.

"Thank you, Miss Briggs."

"You were close to the Fabrays, is that right?"

"Yes, they never missed a Sunday sermon. Judy Fabray in particular – a fine and upstanding woman. Her loss is greatly grieved by the congregation."

"And it's true that you also had contact with Quinn Fabray?"

Reverend Holt Granger shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

"Yes, ma'am, I did. We lost her shortly after it became, uh, apparent that she was pregnant."

"The congregation abandoned her?"

"Absolutely not, we have a firm system of support in place for those who, uh, fall victim to sin. As it were."

"So she chose to leave the church?"

"I believe she turned away from God, yes. After we heard about Judy, and Russell, especially – well, it was clear that God had left her."

Jessalyn leans forward, clasping her hands together.

"Reverend, do you believe in evil?"

"I believe that we are all capable of evil, yes. God gives us the strength to fight against it, to overcome it. These girls have committed unspeakable crimes – crimes I wouldn't even expect from grown men. Now, as I understand it, the Devil isn't talked about much these days, not where it counts. Not in schools, or in the media. But I stand firmly by what I am about to say – what I came here to say – and that is: evil walks among us. The Devil has manifested himself in these girls. There is no other explanation for what they've done. To kill your parents, to kill strangers sitting down for a quiet meal? It is the Devil, Miss Briggs. Why else would these young women – these once sweet young ladies – do this? I challenge you to answer that question, and _not_ come to the conclusion that somehow, somewhere along the way, they have succumbed to evil."

"A compelling argument, Reverend. We thank you for your time."

Jessalyn turns back to camera 2 as Reverend Holt Granger nods his head towards her.

"We invite viewers to call the number on your screen with opinions on the Reverend's words, and this ongoing tragic saga."

O-O

"In a twist to the Fabray case, new evidence has come forward in relation to the three men murdered in Beavercreek, Ohio, one week after Judith and Russell Fabray were killed violently by their own daughter and her friends. Jacob McArthur – stabbed brutally to death in the truck stop bathroom – was fighting sexual assault charges in Houston, Texas. A young woman whose identity we cannot reveal claimed McArthur sexually assaulted her during his employment as a courier, and had skipped town before the trial commenced."

Jessalyn shifts in her chair.

"A second victim in the Beavercreek murders, Jed Holsworthy, was out on bail for manslaughter following a DUI charge."

O-O

"A group calling themselves 'Triple F' have today stepped forward in defense of the four teenage girls wanted for five homicides committed in Ohio in the past two weeks. They claim the girls are 'rebelling against a society designed to subjugate them'. While the girls' location remains a mystery, new evidence has come to light in the wake of the identities of the truck stop victims being released. Francine Ferber, cousin to Quinn Fabray, released a statement earlier this morning claiming Russell and Judith Fabray were abusive parents. She is quoted as saying, 'My uncle had a temper. A very bad one. When Quinn was eight years old, she overheard my brother saying a swear word and repeated it in the presence of her father. His punishment was severe, and physically harming. Extremely so. We didn't see that side of the family again.' The statement goes on to allege that added to Russell Fabray's temper, Judith Fabray was an alcoholic. Police have yet to comment on this statement, however, if you have an opinion call the number on your screen."

O-O

Sue Sylvester stares cockily into the camera in a blue tracksuit top. She is seated in Jessalyn Briggs' chair.

"Good evening, America. I'm Sue Sylvester. You may remember me from the sensationally popular _Sue's Corner_, as well as recognize me as a nationally ranked cheerleading coach with seven consecutive national titles. More recently I was interviewed in relation to three cheerleaders I once coached and their connection to a heinous murder of two beloved citizens of Lima. Now, my first port of business in this sea of sheer ridiculousness is to state the following: I did not train these girls to become killers. Hell, I didn't even train them how to maim people. They've done this all on their own. But," she holds up a finger. "They still hold a special place in my heart. Because they're _survivors_."

A shot of Quinn, Santana and Brittany in matching Cheerios uniforms appears behind Sue.

"The lovely Jessalyn Briggs' did a tremendous job of bastardizing the facts of this case, so I took it upon myself to say hey, studio news, do you want an uneducated toddler feeding viewers a mixture of repetitive horse hooey, or do you want Sue Sylvester," she jerks her thumbs toward her chest. "A woman with a mission for the truth; a woman who _knows_ these girls; a woman with an inside eye into the minds of these teenagers gone wild? And here I am. You're welcome, America."

She smiles charmingly and turns to camera 3.

"Now what I'm here tonight to tell you is that new evidence has come – who wrote this? I'm not reading this. Sue Sylvester doesn't need placards."

She squares her shoulders, before again pointing at the camera.

"This 'Triple F' group is, frankly, nuts. I'm not afraid to say it. I can't even tell you what their name means, and I doubt those hairy braless – please, for the love of God, pick those puppies off the floor ladies and have some decency – even know themselves. But I'll tell you this: they have a point. Now I'm the last person to defend people who break the law, but this case is becoming a hot topic, America. And I'll be here to guide you through it."

The picture behind Sue changes to a smiling picture of Russell and Judith Fabray.

"Aren't they a sweet looking couple? I had the pleasure – and displeasure – of meeting Russ and Judes back when I coached their daughter. Now this Francine Ferber – who looks like she hasn't seen a day of hard work in her life – says ol' Russ had a temper. Well, Francine, let me ask you this – who doesn't? And give the guy a break – his daughter gets knocked up and then kills him! Who _wouldn't _be a little hotheaded? Look, I'm not here to hold your hand and tell you what to believe. I'm here to tell you the facts: sure, Russ had a temper and Judes was a drunk, but you show me parents who are neither of those things and I'll eat every trophy in my showcase."

The picture changes to one of the four girls, cut from a Glee Club yearbook photo.

"Now these 'Triple F' people – I'll hazard a guess: Frighteningly Filthy Feminists? – say that the girls aren't to be feared; they're to be praised! That women have, through out history, been the victims of overbearing violent men, and these teenagers are standing up for feminism and women's liberation and other excuses for avoiding personal hygiene."

Sue shrugs.

"What say you, my fellow Americans? Actually, who cares what _you_ think? I retract my previous statement!I _will_ tell you what to think! Why else are you watching? Let me put it simply: here are some _facts_. Did their continued disregard for my nationally ranked cheerleading squad contribute to their downfall from society? _Of course it did_. Are they somehow being inhabited by the Devil? _Of course not_. That interview was insulting. Will I rest while the truth remains out there – while these juvenile delinquents continue to evade capture by the country's _finest_ officials – and waste your time with useless information?"

The camera zooms in on Sue's face.

"_No._"

She brings her hand up, curling her fingers into an arch over her thumb.

"And _that's_ how Sue sees it."

O-O

"Welcome back to Sue's Corner! The newly instigated, adults only, hard-hitting news _spectacular_ hosted by yours truly – Sue Sylvester. Now, I'm not one to waste time so let's get to it – I've finally figured out what 'Triple F' stands for. 'Faberrittana Freedom Fighters.' Now, I bet you're asking yourself the same question I did when I first heard this ridiculous name – what in the _heck_ is a Faberrittana? Well, ladies and gentleman, those smart people on the internet backing up murderers and calling them heroes have coined this word from joining the names of the four girls and making them into one simple label. Efficient? _Ludicrous_. But there you have it."

Sue shakes her head.

"You know, viewers, when a young Sue Sylvester contemplated how she could get away with murder – _really_ get away with it – she figured her back up plan, should she have to go on the run from the law, would involve laying low and keeping her cool. It was a good plan, and if certain individuals hadn't bowed to my will, who knows? I could still be on the lam today. But the same cannot be said for Quinn Fabray, Rachel Berry, Santana – oh you know their names by now. Thanks to their apparent inability to stay under the radar, they can now add armed robbery to their list of felonies. I have just one thing to say: subtly is an _art_. Keep going at this rate, ladies, and I'll be seeing you in a jail cell by the end of the _week_."

O-O

"Good evening America! I'm Sue Sylvester. Joining me in the studio today are two colorful characters from William McKinley High School – the same school that fostered the growth of four killers currently roaming free somewhere in the country."

Sue smiles.

"First up, the guidance counselor with questionable credentials, Emma Pillsbury."

Emma sighs, attempting to smile.

"Sue."

"Tell me, and the nation, how you guided these four into becoming killers?"

"Now Sue, that is an unfair question. However, I will answer what I think you're asking, and no, I wasn't aware that Rachel, Quinn, Santana and Brittany were troubled enough to do what they've done."

"Of course you didn't, I doubt you see anything past William Shuester's offensive fashion choices. I mean the man wears a different vest everyday. I'm appalled he owns so many – hell, I'm appalled he hasn't been arrested for crimes against my eyesight!"

"I don't see what that has –"

"Next question! Did you even attend college?"

"Sue, please be professional about this. This is a tragic –"

"Onto our next guest! With a name more ridiculous than that Hummel kid's boyfriend – Holly Holiday."

"Susan."

Holly smirks at Sue, the corner of her mouth up and her eyes half lidded.

"You encouraged the girls to express themselves, is that correct?"

"Absolutely! Especially that Santana kid – totally repressed. I had to tell her, man, let it out! Be gay! It's awesome."

"And this encouragement of a deviant lifestyle led to them committing murder. Yet, you continue to teach. Explain!"

"Whoa, whoa. I didn't encourage them to do _that_. I just sang a song about love and growing up and – look, I'm with 'Triple F' on this one. They killed a _rapist_. Kudos!"

Holly Holiday sits back with her arms crossed, as Emma turns to her in shock.

"You can _not_ condone their actions! Murder is a very serious offense, and those poor girls face only a future of imprisonment. They _all_ had bright futures. Santana had an aptitude for politics; Rachel's voice could bring tears to your eyes; Quinn adored literature, she was always reading! And Brittany, she – she was really good at – well it doesn't matter, because it's ruined now! And you sit there all cavalier –"

"Whoa! What's with the anger, dude? That's what I'm saying: it doesn't have to be all doom and gloom. They're heroes!"

"_Heroes?_ Excuse me, I understand you're a simple substitute, but _heroes_ don't _murder_ their _parents_ –"

"If I had a dime for every moment I wanted to kill _my_ parents –"

"Oh please, there is a difference between teenage frustration and actually committing murder –"

"Yeah, and you know what I witnessed in my role as a 'simple' substitute? Azimio Adams cowering from Tina Cohen-Chang. It was – it was a thing of beauty."

"How is that –"

"You don't get it, man. Suddenly, thanks to these four, girls are people to _fear_. They've done more for feminism than Gloria Steinem, and Virginia Woolf, and Alice B Toklas –"

"This isn't about _feminism_! It's about the lives that have been ruined by this horrible sequence of events! But of course you don't see that, you're so stoned I doubt you even know you're on television right now."

The camera quickly returns to Sue.

"Our station manager, Bill, appears to be having some kind of mental fit so, ladies and gentlemen, I have to cut this short. Final thought: do _you_ know who's teaching _your_ children?"

O-O

"I'm skipping the pleasantries tonight, ladies and gentlemen. A sixth murder took place yesterday in the aptly named, Camp Crook, South Dakota. Two police officers were injured in a shoot out during a botched robbery featuring the nation's favorite teenagers. Footage from the store speaks for itself."

A grainy shot of a small store, taken from a corner of the ceiling, shows three figures huddled together behind a shelf of goods. One leans around and shoots blindly with a pistol. On the other side of the store, two police officers take shelter behind a shelf close to the entrance.

The three figures huddle together for a few moments, one gesturing emphatically until the others nod. The gesturer moves as far back as she can, while the other two seem to grasp each other's wrists. With a running leap, the gesturer jumps onto the other figures' joined wrists. Quickly, the gesturer is bounced high into the air by the other two. She flies over the shelves, extending her arms and legs into a star shape, before curling into a ball and landing in a roll behind the police officers. She stands quickly, spins around, and slams her hands into the officer's heads, knocking them forwards into the shelves. She grabs a baton from one of their belts, and hits them again – once each – before grabbing their guns and running outside as the other two follow.

"In all my years as a cheerleading coach – all the awards, competition, thirst for talent; even training Brittany, who was born with only half the normal amount of bones in the human body – it's why she's so flexible – I have _never_ seen a more perfect star basket toss."

Sue looks deeply disturbed.

"The tragedy of losing such a cheerleader to a life of crime _this_ close to Nationals breaks my heart. It truly does."

O-O O-O O-O O-O

They drove as far from Beavercreek as they could while it was still nighttime. They stopped only once – so Rachel could use the last of the bottled water to rinse the blood from her hands and face. The clothes she discarded, and she was thankful her outfit caught most of the sticky red liquid that had erupted from the men she'd murdered.

But she couldn't sleep. Or talk. Or do much of anything, even with Quinn fussing around her and trying to feed her. Even with Santana making idle threats if she didn't open her mouth and tell her what happened.

Quinn was her saving grace, that first day, acting as a very concerned buffer.

While the blonde slept next to her, Rachel kept her eyes focused on the sunlight leaking in through the tent zipper and tried to just stop thinking. Over and over the previous night replayed itself.

So she thought of something else. In agonizing detail, she told herself the story of her and Finn. Every glance, every gesture and song they sang together.

It wasn't comforting. But it was completely distracting.

As they drove back across Kentucky that night, in complete silence – Santana was biting her tongue, waiting until the mute freak spoke up and _then_ she was going to let her have it – Rachel started to scratch idly at her chest. It was just a small itch, nothing major.

Until she started to imagine that she still had blood all over her. Not on her clothes, but her _skin_.

Quinn kept her hand on the seat between them, not quite touching, but enough to let her know she was there. Besides, Rachel had let _her_ deal with it all quietly after her parents were killed. It was enough to repay the favor.

But when the girl started scratching, and then fretting, she instantly knew what they had to do. It wasn't _just_ for Rachel, either. It would be good for all of them.

For just one night.

O-O

Santana took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders and placing a hand on the back of her hip. She stuck her stomach out, blowing a strand of hair off of her forehead. It suited her character, or whatever the fuck she was, but having her hair this messy did _not_ gel with keeping her temper in check.

This was ridiculous. She should be kicking Rachel's ass right now, and pointing out, _again_, that if anyone was their leader it sure as hell wasn't the midget.

She needed to have words with Quinn. What the fuck was the blonde even thinking? Suddenly it was Rachel needs this, and yeah sure, let's _totally_ go to a motel and risk everything so the diva can have a_ shower_. Where was _her_ fucking shower after she'd helped kill Quinn's parents, huh?

Bullshit. Total fucking bullshit.

The door made a little tinkling noise as Santana pushed through it, pouting her lips and rubbing the bulge under her dress. No way in _hell_ would she ever actually get pregnant. Ever. If she ended up with someone who wanted demon spawn, bitch could ruin _their_ figure for the _joys_ of motherhood.

She paused, one foot inside the motel reception – what in the good goddamned hell was she thinking? No _way_ she was shacking up with a lady who wanted a baby. Even if she was the hottest woman alive. Even if she were _Olivia Wilde_ she wouldn't – well, _maybe_ for Olivia Wilde –

"Can I help you, Miss?"

She snapped out of her reverie and sighed. Here went nothing.

"Necesito un cuarto. Yo estoy muy embarazada. Un cuarto grande. Ahora."

She batted her eyes, emphatically rubbed her stomach again, as the male clerk blinked at her. He looked her up and down nervously while rubbing the back of his head.

"Uh, I don't speak no Mexican so, uh – listen, you speak American? Uh, hablo no, uh – aw hell! Marjory!"

It was the worst physical pain she had ever experienced; the sheer force of will it took _not_ to roll her eyes made them begin to water.

"Don't cry! Aw, Jesus H. Christ, Marjory!"

The guy called out again, glancing over his shoulder at the beaded curtain hanging over an archway. Santana couldn't see a thing beyond it, except the faint flickering of lights. There was no sign of whoever Marjory was.

He seemed so nervous, and suddenly, Santana was having fun. She stepped forward, and then pretended like she was in pain.

"¡Voy a dar a luz al hijo de perra aquí mismo!" She gasped, clutching the bulge and beginning to pant slightly.

"Listen darlin', what do you want?" He looked like he was starting to sweat, and it was all she could do not to laugh.

"Room! Big!" She groaned, reaching the counter and gripping it with one hand. After a beat, she stopped the pain act, and offered him a weak smile. "Por favor."

He seemed almost relieved.

"Room! Big!" He echoed, and hurriedly reached behind him for a key.

As he did so, she reached into the pocket of the cardigan she had over her ugly dress – she made a vow to set fire to it after this stupid shit was over – hell, she was setting fire to _all_ of Rachel's clothes – and slapped a fifty-dollar bill onto the counter.

"Er, what name should I put –" the clerk started, taking a deep breath. "What name you have?" He shouted, and Santana did her best not to glare at him.

"Tú pareces como un hombre que tiene sexo con animales." She murmured, batting her eyelashes.

His head did a weird kind of shaking thing in response as he handed the key over and took the crumpled note.

"Jane Doe it is." He mumbled, turning around and fishing in the cash drawer for change.

There was a tinkling sound, and when he turned back, the strange pregnant Mexican woman was gone.

He blew out a breath, and frowned at the sign out sheet he'd been told to fill in as vigilantly as possible.

Fuck it. He wrote down a few quick made up details, stuffed it into the filing cabinet, and prayed there'd be no more check ins. He hated the midnight shift.

O-O

Rachel had the shower pressure turned to full.

The blast of hot water was welcoming. It scalded her skin, and washed it clean.

There was a strange emptiness in her mind – as if her thoughts had gone quiet for the first time in her short life.

It was just water, and getting clean, and her skin getting pinker the longer she stood under the spray.

It was all she needed.

* * *

><p>Brittany's eyes were glued to the television screen. She had missed it so, so much.<p>

Santana sat by the window, peering through the teeniest of cracks between the curtain and the wall. She glared at what she could see – an empty dark highway; broken and blinking 'Vacancy' sign; a drink machine under a fluorescent light that made her feel epileptic.

Quinn sat on the single mattress pushed against the far wall, staring at the bathroom door and chewing her lip. Her hands squeezed the duvet she sat on as she listened to the running water from the other side of the bathroom door.

"Boring." Brittany mumbled, clicking the channel over on the television as a show with lawyers doing law things came on. "So boring." She clicked it over again and landed on an infomercial. "Most boring ever." She hit a news station, clicking it again.

"Britts, turn it back." Santana's attention was finally drawn from the window. So a S.W.A.T. team could be helicoptering over them right now with it's lights off and some super secret Government silent engine thing or something – she knew they existed, as if they _didn't_ – but they'd hidden the car behind the motel and she was fairly certain it couldn't be seen from the highway.

Not that it was really a highway. More a long stretch of barely maintained road.

"But San, it's boring." Brittany replied, anxious to get as many fun shows in as she could. They'd go back to camping after this, probably. And sure, the stars were totally awesome – especially with Santana pointing out the constellations that looked like boobs – but it wasn't _Spongebob: Squarepants._

"Sweetie, we're on the run, remember? We need to know what they know to stay ahead." Santana stood and stretched, aching for a shower of her own. How long did it take to wash a midget?

Brittany kicked her feet a little, then turned the television back to the news. The picture was a little fuzzy, but she could make out the lady host talking to a guy dressed like a priest.

Santana settled on the other bed in the room – a double – and folded her hands behind her head, squinting at the television.

"_... kill your parents, to kill strangers sitting down for a quiet meal? It is the Devil, Miss Briggs. Why else would these young women – these once sweet young ladies – do this? I challenge you to answer that question, and not come to the conclusion that somehow, somewhere along the way, they have succumbed to evil..."_

Quinn's head snapped to the screen and she frowned.

"... _a controversial interview earlier this evening between Reverend Holt Granger and Jessalyn Briggs..."_

"Hold up, was that about us?" Santana asked, frowning in confusion.

"Are we evil?" Brittany nervously played with the ends of her hair, glancing between the other girls and the television screen.

"No, Britts, we're _not_ evil. I told you – just 'cause it's on the news doesn't mean it's true." Santana turned her head to Quinn. "But seriously, did a priest just blame the devil? For real?"

Quinn shook her head slightly. God, it had been a _long_ week.

"I – I think so. But I know him. He blames _everything_ on the Devil. After I – with Beth – look, any little thing he doesn't understand is the Devil's work and –" She leant forwards, putting her face in her hands. "And some _idiot_ put him on television."

There was a cranking sound from the bathroom, and the noise of the water stopped.

A few moments later, Rachel walked out with a towel wrapped around her and a determined look on her face. Her voice, though, was shaking and despite the pink hue to her shoulders and flushed cheeks, she was trembling.

"Firstly, I wish to apologize for my actions. It was my full intention to see the plan to it's fruition – and I understand if you feel upset with the course of events that transpired – however, I ask you to listen to the following as it proves, beyond a doubt, that I should stay with you from now on."

She took a deep breath, preparing to launch into the speech that had slowly come to her in the shower but was cut off as Quinn stood up and grabbed her by the shoulders.

"Are you okay? What happened? Rachel?"

It was odd to have those eyes – once staring at her with contempt – now filled with worry. Further, to have the same hands that once threw slushies in her face, and drove a knife into Russell Fabray, grip her bare shoulders.

"Is your throat okay?" Brittany asked, turning the television down, and gazing at them worriedly.

"What the fuck even happened in there, Berry?" Santana joined in, perturbed by how small the girl looked just standing there in a towel. Like, she _knew_ she was a midget, but this freaked her out – Rachel looking all fragile and shit. She couldn't even appreciate the gap in the towel as it hung over the girl's thighs.

Not that she _would_, anyway.

"Surface wounds." Rachel muttered, running her fingers over her throat. It stung, a little, but the cut wasn't too deep. "I – are you still kicking me out?"

"Rachel," Quinn sighed. "We weren't kicking you –"

"Hells yes, you just fucked the plan _royally _–"

"Kicking is mean."

"He was going to rape me!" Rachel said suddenly, loudly, and everybody went quiet.

"_What?_" Santana shot off the bed and marched towards Rachel, pushing Quinn away from her. "Who raped you?"

Rachel nearly dropped her towel in fright.

"He didn't – I elbowed him in the – then I stabbed –" Rachel's hand flew to her mouth, and she turned around and ran back into the bathroom.

Santana and Quinn ignored the sounds of the diva vomiting.

"When I went in there she was – I don't know what happened, I just _knew_ something went wrong and I – God, S, she was stabbing this guy and –" Quinn fell heavily onto the bed behind her as Santana's jaw dropped.

"Okay, you need to start making sense right the fuck now."

Brittany's brow furrowed as she thought about Rachel vomiting in the bathroom. The diva's hair was loose, so it would be in her face, and that was gross. She should go in and hold it back. She nodded to herself and stood, moving to kneel beside the brunette.

"Hey Rachel, don't worry," she said softly, gently pulling a handful of the girl's hair back. "I wanted to vomit too. But I didn't 'cause I don't like it, plus it seemed mean to get sick all over your car after I totally puked on your face."

Rachel heaved again.

"I'm glad you didn't get raped."

Brittany stroked Rachel's back, because when she was younger her mom used to do it when she felt sick and it always made her feel better. She started to hum, too, figuring it was soothing.

And it was. Rachel felt herself calming down, her mind losing the images of bloody bodies and the feeling of a knife sliding into skin, and instead struggle to identify the song coming from Brittany's mouth. It was a nice distraction.

"_Get up, come on, get down with the sickness_," Brittany sang softly, smiling brightly when Rachel looked at her weakly. "_Here it comes, get ready to die!_"

* * *

><p>Quinn sighed. She couldn't sleep. Her body felt exhausted, and the shower had done wonders to her muscles, but she couldn't keep her eyes from the small figure sleeping in the single bed. She had thought Rachel would appreciate the space – and squeezing in with Santana and Brittany didn't exactly spell <em>comfortable<em> – but the diva had watched them get into bed together with an expression that seemed, well, jealous? Left out? She couldn't pinpoint it, and she didn't know why it bothered her.

The plan had been _such_ a good one. Even better, now it could never work. Rachel was going to go back to a normal life and things would –

She groaned, forcing her mind to be quiet. It was no use lingering on what could have been. Especially when there was _so much_ to linger on.

Her mind replayed the expressions on the other girl's face as she'd told them the details of what had happened. Of how the guy had smelt, and what he'd said.

Santana had thrown a Finn and kicked the small arm chair in the corner as Rachel spoke. Quinn reminded herself to tease her about it later, and then mentally slapped herself because that _wasn't_ the point.

Her eyes traced the outline of the body in the single bed.

Maybe Reverend Holt was right? Maybe the Devil was out there screwing around with their lives. A year ago they'd been fighting over a boy, and singing every week about feelings and the future. And now?

She'd tried to do the right thing, and Rachel had been attacked. It made her feel sick, because everything she touched really _did_ turn to shit.

She threw the covers off her legs, and stumbled toward the bathroom, shutting the door softly and sitting on the toilet.

She started to cry, muffling the sounds in her hands as best she could.

It was like she could feel it all inside her – everything that had happened and all of the feelings attached – pressing against the edges of her skin. Her face scrunched up, and she tried so hard to contain it. And so hard to just get it out of her.

The door opened slowly, and before she could compose herself, arms wrapped around her and squeezed.

She squeezed back, unable to determine between her own sobs and the other girl's.

* * *

><p>"San?" Brittany whispered, snaking an arm over the Latina's waist and stretching out since Quinn had gotten up.<p>

"Mmm?" Santana murmured, pretending to be sleepier than she felt.

"Can we ever go back to Lima?" Brittany bit her lip, anticipating and dreading the answer. She'd been so excited about their plan.

"No." Santana replied, and rolled over to face the blonde. "But it's a good thing, and you know why?"

Brittany let the sound of the other girl's voice wash over her, allowing it's warmth to drown out everything in her head.

"Why?"

"Because Lima sucks, and people in Lima suck. We're free of them." She shrugged, sliding her hand over the blonde's hip and tugging her closer.

"But where are we going?"

Brittany felt Santana go still.

"Anywhere we want." Santana answered finally. "Everywhere we want."

O-O

"Jesus, Berry, how much shit do you have in your car?" Santana pushed against a bag, pulling wigs and tent pegs out of the way before spying what she was looking for.

"I have only what is necessary for –"

"Can it, small fry."

"What do you think you're doing?"

Rachel watched as Santana squatted at the rear of her car, a smug look on her face.

"Being _awesome_. What are you doing? Wait – let me guess – being a massive troll." With a flourish, Santana waved the rear license plate of Rachel's car around.

"That's just wonderful, really, good job! If we don't get pulled over for homicide we'll be stopped for driving an unregistered vehicle. Well done, Santana, you're ability to make even –" Rachel huffed as Santana walked further and further away from her. "Where are you going?"

Quinn rummaged through the remainder of their food supply with a frown on her face. They hadn't risked getting food at the motel, sleeping for a few hours and leaving the room before the sun rose. They had crept back to the car one by one; Santana going straight for the trunk as the other three checked their supplies. Well, Quinn and Rachel checked while Brittany called shotgun and tried to decide which of the five nineties CD's they should play first.

"We're going to have to go shopping again. Somehow." Quinn muttered, despondently fingering one of the last three soup can labels.

"Santana just ran off after removing my license plate." Rachel replied, arms crossed and looking highly unimpressed.

"Great." Quinn sighed, leaning back into her car seat and avoiding making eye contact with the brunette, who was now looking at her expectantly from outside the car.

"Is no one else concerned that Santana just _ran off_ after taking off my _license plate_?" Rachel reiterated, annoyed that the blondes seemed to be completely ignoring her.

Quinn just couldn't look at her, not after she'd spent a good portion of the night sobbing into the girl's arms like a baby. Sure, she had a good reason – _so many_ _good reasons_ – to be an emotional mess, but with Rachel? She wanted to shudder. Emotional vulnerability wasn't even okay with her _friends_ let alone her once enemy now accomplice thing whatever she was.

Brittany wasn't ignoring Rachel. She just knew why Santana had run off, and since it made sense, there was no reason to get all flustered like the diva was getting.

"First I'm nearly raped, then! Then I kill _two_ people which is _so_ against what I stand for morally that I'm tempted to write the whole event off as a fugue like episode – which would explain why my memories are a little hazy – also the extreme strength and agility I exhibited – and now my car is defaced by someone who _hates_ me but who I'm _stuck_ with –"

"San doesn't hate you." Brittany took CD four out of its case. "And she's being awesome. She said so."

"That still doesn't –"

"Rachel, just get in the damn car."

Rachel was adverse to orders on principle, but the tone of Quinn's voice reminded her of how the blonde used to speak to her – exasperated, annoyed, as if everything about her irritated Quinn. So she obeyed, because it was this tone that hurt most of all. Even Quinn's angry voice was more welcome than this one.

She shut her car door, and swallowed her huff.

The three of them sat in the dark – the sun not far from rising – and waited for the Latina to return in silence.

After a few minutes, Santana appeared at the driver's door, hopping in and grinning at them all wildly.

Well, Rachel thought a little later as they set up camp for the day and she admired the back of her car, it _was_ a good idea. Her rear GLDSTR plate had been replaced with one from Florida.

Whoever had the station wagon four doors down from theirs at the motel would likely be fined for having only one plate now, but at least they didn't _kill _them.

Rachel took the screwdriver from Santana and detached the front plate herself. She laid it carefully in the trunk, next to the other, and kissed her fingertips before touching them reverently to the treasured letters.

They would leave the new plate on the back for now – they figured no one would notice the absence of a front plate because who even _looked_ at those – until another opportunity arose to switch them. They'd keep driving at night, so the color of the car wasn't _such_ an issue. And if they changed the plates once a week, no one could say for sure they'd seen them.

Now _that_ was a perfect plan, Santana thought smugly.

O-O

"And _that_, my illustrious associates, is why my plans are off the hook." Santana dusted her hands off on her pants, and smirked triumphantly. She was _born_ to lead.

"I agree that it's good," Quinn started, chewing slowly. "For the _short term_."

Santana pursed her lips, reaching for a Twizzler.

"It's awesome for the short term." Brittany agreed, beaming at the Latina.

Rachel looked up at the sky – still darkening as the sun slipped away completely – and breathed deeply through her nostrils.

"But we need to figure out what we're going to do later. Where we'll go, how we'll survive. We're running out of food, and we," Quinn swallowed. "We can't run forever."

"So we stay off the radar with my _amazing_ plan, and head to Mexico or whatever once they've given up looking for us." Santana shrugged, as if the whole thing wasn't blaringly obvious.

"Right, S, and they're really going to stop after –" Quinn winced as her eyes darted to Rachel, unsure how the diva would react to bringing the roadhouse up.

But Rachel was eerily silent, keeping her gaze toward the stars. Brittany followed suit, leaving the other two to duke it out between them.

"Yeah so we stay on the run for a little more. The dude was a _rapist_, Q, Berry should get a medal or whatever."

"And the other two? How about the cook you ran over _twice_, S?"

"Well I wouldn't have had to if you hadn't brained him with _my_ softball bat!"

"He had a _knife_ and – and _you're_ the one who _drove_ –"

"So I reacted! So _what_! You should be thanking me for having the balls to finish the job you –"

"Neither of you would've had to do anything if I'd been able to control myself." Rachel said calmly, her eyes not once leaving the sky.

Santana crossed her arms, her mouth snapping shut because it was true.

Quinn gently placed her bowl on the grass, and turned toward the shorter girl.

"None of you would be here at all if _I_ had been able to control _my_self."

No one had a response for that. It wasn't entirely true – Quinn hadn't started things, that day, and it wasn't as if they blamed _her_ for what was going on. But it was _kind_ of true that if Quinn had just stayed at McKinley instead of insisting –

"The Chained Princess." Rachel intoned, lifting an arm to point at the sky. "Andromeda – so beautiful that her mother, the Queen, boasted her daughter put all else to shame. Even the Gods. The nymphs of the sea – jealous and spiteful – demanded retribution for the arrogance of the woman from Neptune, God of all the oceans, and so he sent a great sea monster after the girl and her mother."

Quinn found her gaze turning up to the stars, struggling to see what Rachel was looking at.

"The King – learning the reason as to why his lands were being ravished by a monstrous beast – had no choice but to offer his only daughter in defense of his land. He had her chained to a rock, completely naked and helpless."

Brittany had her eyes scrunched up, looking for anything that looked like a princess. It was only when Rachel said she was naked that she relaxed. All the boobs in the sky must be her, she reasoned, and let the story overtake her.

"The monster bore down on the frightened girl, whose only crime was that of her mother's arrogance, and she prepared to meet her death. But then!" Rachel felt the thrill of having the other girls interest completely wrapped around her. "Perseus, fresh from his battle with the snake-headed Medusa, flew in on Pegasus, a horse with wings!"

Brittany's jaw dropped.

Santana rolled her eyes.

"And using the head of the she-beast he had just slaughtered, turned the oncoming beast into stone, saving the beautiful princess and falling hopelessly in love with her."

Rachel sighed dramatically, her fevered imagination always placing herself in Andromeda's shoes, imagining Finn on a flying horse rescuing her from –

Her eyes fell to Quinn's face, seated beside her and gazing with interest at the night sky. It stopped Rachel's thoughts, even her words, as she saw the look on the girl's face. Her mind's eye turned Andromeda into a hazel-eyed blonde, and Finn disappeared entirely. It was just Quinn, chained to a rock, awaiting something horrifying.

She cleared her throat.

"They were married, and cast into the stars as a reminder to all who gazed upon them the dangers of – of arrogance –"

"What bullshit." Santana spat, and Rachel winced, preparing herself to be completely torn apart by the Latina _again_. "That bitch Queen should've been tied to the rock or whatever, for starters. So her kid was hot, so what? Neptune should've kicked those nymphs aside and taken the girl for his own. Made the monster eat the Queen and King for being douche-bags, and rocked Andromeda's world. Made her Queen of the sea. Now _that_ would've been a story."

"When I was four I totally wanted to marry a horse." Brittany said lightly, smiling at Rachel. "If he had wings it would've been even awesomer."

"The moral was _arrogance_?" Santana continued, working herself into a rant. "Hell to the no! Moral of that story is pretty girls should be punished and only saved by dudes who marry them. Did _she_ fall in love with _him_? I bet she was so relieved not to have a monster chewing on her hot ass that she was like, whatev's, let's get married in case you turn _me_ into stone."

By now, Santana was gesturing angrily at the sky, and Brittany was nodding along with everything the Latina was saying.

Rachel would've defended her story – one she had romanticized since she had first heard it as a child – but felt too much like smiling, instead. She could concede that Santana had a point – though she didn't have to admit it out loud.

She caught Quinn's eye as Santana kept on – berating the myth further by insinuating that the sea nymphs had self esteem issues and if they _really_ felt threatened by some human chick with a pretty face, they didn't _deserve_ to be immortal anyway – and couldn't contain the smile of amusement as Quinn rolled her eyes a little, shaking her head. The blonde lifted one hand, making her fingers stretch out over her thumb, and moving them towards and away from each other in a 'Blah blah blah' motion. Rachel couldn't stop her smile from turning into a grin.

It was nice, Quinn thought, to have someone else with them who understood where she was coming from. Usually Brittany would be rapt in whatever Santana was ranting about, and Quinn could either choose to keep her eye-rolls to herself or challenge the Latina, which always resulted in a yelling match and everyone ending the night sulking.

It didn't surprise her nearly as much as it would have, a week ago, to realize she was thankful Rachel was still with them, after all.

O-O

The finally agreed on a few things. The first was that, until they found somewhere they felt completely safe, they would keep moving. Camping in the wilderness was fine for a night or two, but the need to restock their supplies meant they couldn't stay in one place for too long.

The second was that their destination was yet to be determined. _Maybe_ they could sneak into South America after a couple of months of hiding. _Maybe_ they would find a tiny town they could _somehow_ build a temporary life in.

Santana, straight away, demanded that if she was going to live in a town smaller than Lima it would have to have either cowgirls, a girl gang, or a lesbian commune. It would also need a department store, a _Breadstix_, and no police stations.

Until they found the mystical lawless lesbian cowgirls who spent their nights owning and operating a family restaurant, however, they would just keep driving. Every one hundred miles or so they would change direction – after heading South, they started West again. They figured that this way, if anyone thought they saw them, their destination was harder to determine.

Above all, they agreed, they would have to stay as invisible as possible.

Which meant no more killing.

O-O

"Slow down, Santana! The faster you drive the more chance there is of injury befalling my car, and if it breaks down out here, in the middle of _nowhere_, we will have to _walk_ which will heighten our chances of being arrested –"

"Stop being so paranoid, tiny dancer! The faster we go, the sooner we hit Vegas!"

"_Vegas_?"

Quinn sat in the back of the car, listening to her oldest best friend – and her newest – bickering in the front. It had been enough for Rachel to acquiesce to Santana driving again, but the short girl kept stubbornly attempting to try and drive the car from the passenger seat.

Beside her, Brittany stared out of the window and wondered what the countryside they were driving past looked like. When she was little and her parents took her on road trips, she loved watching the way the hills turned into valleys, and forests, and towns. Driving at night, however, meant everything just looked dark. She kept one hand on the seat in front of her, her fingertips idly playing with Santana's hair as she fought with the diva.

"Yes, _Vegas_. You bitches have been talking about driving around for_fucking_ever until we can finally go to Mexico or whatever, and look – if I'm going to spend my _life_ over the border, I needs to gets my Vegas on first."

"I just – I _don't_ understand you, Santana. Are you even taking this seriously? People have _died_; we could end up in jail for the rest of our lives if we _don't_ get the death penalty. And you want to go to an overpopulated city –"

"Exactly that – _overpopulated city_, Lullaby League! Listen, we wear those ridiculous wigs in the back, paint ourselves up like trash – but hot – and disappear in a city for a night! Why not? You know why Where's Waldo is so hard to find? Because there's so many people that look like him!"

"We're _seventeen_, Santana! What are we going to do exactly – go to an all-you-can-eat buffet and then stay in the children's daycare center of some hotel?"

"No, _you'll_ be in the daycare center while my ass is looking twenty-one and gambling. And drinking. And sticking dollar bills in stripper's g-strings –"

"If you _refuse_ to stop in a town that doesn't have a _Breadstix_, than I reserve the right to _refuse_ going to Las Vegas."

"Guys?" Quinn asked softly, frowning as she turned in her seat and looked through the back window.

"You are the most _boring_ troll on the planet you –"

"I just don't want to get us caught –"

"Guys!" Quinn said, firmly.

"_What?_" Santana glanced at her in the rearview mirror, and Rachel turned around.

A lone headlight followed them about fifty yards from their car. Santana gunned the accelerator a little, her heart rate picking up, and suddenly red and blue lights started flashing as the headlight got closer to them.

"Fuck!" Santana hissed, preparing herself to floor it.

"Oh my God!" Rachel echoed, shrinking in her seat.

Brittany moaned, her lower lip quivering.

Quinn took a deep breath and fought against the adrenalin coursing through her veins and tried to think rationally.

"It's – it's a motorcycle – there's only one – he _must_ be highway patrol or –" Quinn was babbling, her hand encircling the slightly dented softball bat she hadn't been able to put back in the trunk of the car and kept in the backseat now at all times.

"What do we do? Fuck it – fuck it let's just –" Santana pressed down on the accelerator a little more. The lone headlight got closer to them.

"No, S, slow down. Just pull over, okay?"

"The _fuck_ –" Santana started, but Quinn cut her off.

"It's _one guy_, okay? You take off and he'll call for back up and then we're really screwed."

Santana gripped the steering wheel, grit her teeth, and against her better judgment, started slowing the car down.

They could barely breathe as the car pulled over, and the siren grew louder. Quinn slunk down as low as she could in her seat, and unlocked her door.

The police officer took his time approaching the driver's window, and as he passed, Quinn opened her door as quietly as was possible and slipped through the smallest opening she could get through.

"You know why I pulled you over?"

She heard the cop say, gruffly, but not as if he thought they were wanted for murder.

"Oh hi, Officer! I'm so sorry; I must've been going a little fast –" Santana started in a high pitched voice as Quinn crept around the back of the car, softball bat gripped tightly in her hands.

"You call seventy-eight miles per hour going a _little_ fast? License and registration please, Ma'am."

Rachel tried to keep her face hidden as the officer bent down to look into the car. He eyed the paint job for a moment, before his eyes darted to Santana's face and then his mouth dropped open.

Before he could speak, Rachel heard an all too familiar cracking sound and the cop fell sideways.

Quinn winced as the man fell onto the road, and Rachel hurriedly opened her door and ran around the front. She reached down towards the man's neck, and then breathed a sigh of relief.

"He's alive!" She said, checking the back of his head and grimacing at the blood on her fingers.

"Hit him again!" Santana yelled, unable to get out of the car since the man's body was resting against her door.

"Wait!" Rachel threw her hands up as if to protect the guy, and Quinn shook her head.

"We'll just tie him up," she breathed, lowering the bat. "That's all."

Rachel nodded, hands shaking.

Santana lifted herself over the gear stick and climbed through the passenger door as Brittany also got out of the car.

The four of them stood over him, his headlight illuminating his prone body.

They lifted him off the road and laid him down in front of a bush so in the daylight he was easily seen from the road. Brittany hopped on his motorcycle and rode it until it was next to him – thanks to her motocross days she was the only one who knew how to ride a motorcycle – and they handcuffed him to it.

Rachel tore a strip of his shirt off and wrapped it carefully around his head.

Before they got back in the car, Santana and Quinn agreed they should take his gun.

Just in case.

O-O

"_Hit me baby one more time!_" Brittany sang happily, her feet resting on the dashboard as her hands clapped along.

Rachel drove at a considerably lower speed than Santana, her eyes darting between her rearview and side mirrors, and the road, periodically in case any other headlights appeared. She had turned them North as soon as she could.

In the back, Quinn and Santana had their heads together, the gun resting between them on the seat.

"I say we use it to get supplies." Santana said lowly, staring at the weapon.

Quinn nodded.

"But we don't shoot anyone. We just use it to scare them."

Santana reached her hand to Quinn's, and squeezed it.

"Exactly. We get gas, and food, and be on our way. No harm, no foul."

"Rachel won't go for it."

Santana squeezed Quinn's hand tighter, bringing it into her lap.

"So we dress up like cowgirls and let her stay in the car. She'll be none-the-wiser."

Quinn glanced at the back of Rachel's head, watching the paranoid girl go almost cross-eyed as she tried to keep her eyes on all of the mirrors.

Then the blonde nodded, and tightened her own hand over the Latina's.

* * *

><p>"Remember to keep your accents as consistent as possible! And your back-stories! When all else fails, Santana, start rapidly speaking Spanish and exit the establishment as quickly as you can. If you get into trouble, Quinn, wave your hat in the air and Brittany and I will pick you up!" Rachel was fretting, straightening Quinn's cowboy hat and looking worriedly over Santana's red wig. "I apologize, Santana, a deep auburn actually suits your –"<p>

Santana gruffly yanked Quinn's arm and they began walking away from the still rambling diva and towards the lights of the gas station.

Quinn kept her eyes trained forwards, gas canister in hand, as Santana patted the lump in the small of her back where she'd hidden the gun.

"No one gets shot." Quinn muttered, and Santana nodded her head.

They filled the canister as much as they could, Quinn trying to stop her hands from shaking as she put the gas pump back in it's holder.

With a final nod to each other, they strode toward the store.

"All right motherfucker, put your hands up!" Santana yelled at the middle-aged clerk eating Cheetos behind the cash register.

Quinn moved quickly around the store, gathering food.

The clerk had his hands up, eyes wide as he watched the cowgirl strippers rob his store.

"I need a bag!" Quinn yelled, fumbling with soup cans.

"Give us a bag!" Santana barked, keeping the gun trained on the guy.

The clerk started to sweat, wondering how he would give them a bag with his hands up. Santana seemed to realize at the same time, and leant over the counter and grabbed a handful of plastic bags. She thrust them at Quinn, who ran back to the shelves and started filling them.

"Please don't hurt me." The clerk mumbled, and Santana glared at him ferociously.

"Did I tell you to speak?" She jabbed the gun in his direction. "No! Now open the cash register and give me all your money!"

Quinn had so much adrenalin running through her veins she didn't know _what_ she was grabbing, but it was becoming apparent that there was no way they could run back to the car with _that_ many shopping bags.

"We need help! I'm waving the hat!" She called breathlessly, running out of the store and waving her hat with the same level of enthusiasm she once waved pom-poms.

"Jesus fucking Christ. Here we go." Santana mumbled, cocking the gun and trying not to look surprised when it actually worked. She'd never used a gun before.

The gold VW screamed into the station, Brittany jumping out and running towards the store when Quinn ran back inside.

"Take these to the car! Fill it up with gas!" Quinn gasped, waving at the shopping bags already filled and running to the fridges to fill more.

"And hurry it up!" Santana grit out as the clerk shoved cash into her hands and then lifted them back up in surrender.

Brittany opened the trunk and threw the shopping bags inside, then started pumping gas into the car.

"What's going on?" Rachel asked, eerily calm.

"Santana's pointing a gun at the guy and Quinn's stealing all the food. And I'm stealing gas!" Brittany replied, watching the numbers click over as she depressed the gas pump.

"Huh." Rachel felt a wave of annoyance wash over her. They could've _told_ her they were just going to hold the place up. She had wasted precious time concocting stories for their characters; choosing their wigs and outfits; being _proud_ that they had finally come to her way of being on the run.

It was just rude.

Quinn flew out of the store clutching the shopping bags, her hat flying off her head as she got to the car and threw the bags inside. Brittany put the pump back in place, and lifted the canister into the trunk before slamming it shut, and getting back in the passenger seat. She _had_ called shotgun, after all.

Santana backed out of the store; gun still raised at the clerk.

"You even _think _about calling the cops before our asses are out of here and I'll come back and shoot you a new asshole!" She yelled, having the absolute time of her life. She was _so_ badass right now.

She leapt into the back seat of the car, eyes bright and feeling like she wanted to laugh.

But the car didn't move.

"Is everyone wearing their seatbelts?" Rachel asked them calmly, and Brittany dutifully pulled hers across her chest.

"I am!" The blue-eyed blonde crowed happily.

"What the _fuck_ – Berry drive the fucking car!" Santana cried, her buzz dying as panic set in.

"I will, Santana, once everyone is safely strapped into the vehicle." Rachel's voice had an edge to it, and Quinn obeyed without comment.

"You fucking –" Santana started.

"Just do it." Quinn mumbled, as Rachel stared resolutely ahead of her. Yes, car safety was important to her, but perhaps the Latina would think twice about keeping her in the dark next time.

"Fucking crazy bitch," Santana grumbled, buckling herself in. "I'm going to shoot _you_ a new asshole you ridiculous excuse for a –"

As Rachel heard the click of Santana's seatbelt, she gunned the engine and drove away from the gas station.

She ignored Santana's bitching as she turned up the song coming from one of Brittany's CDs and sang along at the top of her voice.

"_I'm a bitch, I'm a tease, I'm a Goddess on my knees, when you're hurt, when you suffer, I'm your angel undercover_!"

O-O


	4. Part 2b

Santana refused to talk to Rachel until they'd set up camp for the day and she'd drank three of the eight wine coolers Quinn had grabbed from the fridges of the gas station.

They hadn't gone in with the intention of stealing alcohol, but when life gave you booze, Santana reasoned, you drank it. Plus it helped her deal with Rachel's continued sulking that they didn't clue in her to what they were going to do.

"If we don't have trust, we have nothing! It's the four of us versus the rest of the world now, and while I can appreciate on some level that perhaps you were protecting me from what is a _terrible_ thing to do to someone, I also realize that the more likely reasoning behind your betrayal was to protect yourselves."

Quinn reached for a wine cooler, as Brittany happily sipped from a bottle of Jack Daniels.

"Furthermore, the disregard you are currently exhibiting by ingesting alcohol is greatly disappointing."

Quinn wordlessly handed Rachel an unopened wine cooler and shrugged at her.

Rachel's mouth flapped open and closed.

"I don't think –" she started to say, catching Santana's look of complete contempt and sighing. "Fine."

Things had been going so well between the four of them, and now her and Santana were back at square one.

Perhaps a drink was just what she needed.

* * *

><p>"Whoo!" Brittany yelled, turning the ignition in the car and pressing play on the CD player. The thumping bass of a dance track echoed around the valley they were camping in.<p>

The blonde nimbly jumped onto the car's bonnet and started to sway her hips back and forth, reaching her arms above her head and closing her eyes.

Quinn scowled, grasping the neck of the Jack Daniel's bottle and swigging from it.

"I just don't know why you hate me," Rachel slurred, leaning into Santana's shoulder and pouting.

"Because everyone hates _me_!" The Latina replied, bursting into tears.

It was midday, the sun beating down on them as cars flew by a quarter of a mile away on the highway. They'd set up their tents in preparation for sleeping, but the excitement from the night before had still been coursing through their veins and they couldn't sleep.

Especially when they'd rifled through the grocery bags and found bottles of alcohol and juice.

Quinn didn't even remember grabbing half of what they now had – including dairy items they'd thrown out of the car windows despite Rachel's contradicting protestations about littering and the cruelty of the dairy industry – but along with the alcohol and food there were hair ties, condoms, magazines and engine oil.

Brittany had blown up most of the condoms and tied the ends, batting them around happily until she'd gotten the urge to dance.

"I don't hate you! _You_ hate _me_!" Rachel cried, snuggling deeper into Santana's shoulder as the Latina cried even harder.

"It's just so _hard_ you know, because I'm not blonde!"

Quinn took a mouthful of liquor, swallowing it quickly as her vision began to waver.

"Being blonde doesn't make things easy!" She yelled, slamming the bottle into the grass and trying to stand. "Being blonde is hard!"

Rachel blinked at Quinn groggily, smiling at her after a few moments and reaching toward her.

"I _always_ wanted to be blonde. So I had to make my voice blonde, for people." She hiccupped, watching as Quinn stomped over to one of the tents and kicked it.

"It _is_ easier being blonde! Everyone wants you! Everyone thinks I'm a bitch!" Santana wailed, jabbing her finger at Quinn and tipping her sixth wine cooler back.

Brittany pouted as the song she was dancing to came to an end, but perked up quickly when an equally thumping bass track followed it.

"I love this song!" Rachel clapped her hands and half skipped half stumbled towards her car, attempting to climb up and dance with Brittany.

Brittany unbuttoned her shirt, dropping into a squat before slowly twisting her hips and rising back into a standing position. Rachel clambered up next to her, spinning around to survey the countryside and spreading her arms wide, singing along with the music pumping out of her car.

"You _are_ a bitch!" Quinn spat, trying to pull the tent into a new position because it was just _wrong_ where it was and this _always_ happened when she got drunk.

"I'm just _real_!" Santana spat back, swaying in place as fresh tears poured over her cheeks. "I'm the only one who never lies and what does it get me? No friends!"

"You're _my_ best friend! You don't even care!" Quinn rambled, not really sure what reasons she had to back up what she was saying but feeling the anger pouring out of her anyway.

"I care," Santana started, looking more serious than she ever had before. "_So_ much. Quinn, I killed your dad over it!"

"No, _I_ killed my dad!"

Santana trudged over to where Quinn had given up trying to rearrange the tent, and grabbed her shoulders.

"No, Q, _I_ killed him. And I should've like, so long ago. What an asshole."

Quinn sighed, pursing her lips.

"Maybe _we_ killed him. Together."

Brittany's shirt hit the grass, followed quickly by her bra, and Rachel squealed laughing. She impulsively grabbed the blonde and hugged her, the left side of her face getting mashed against Brittany's bare breasts.

Brittany hugged the brunette happily, smiling brighter when she saw Quinn and Santana hugging near their tents. Santana was weeping, and Quinn was frowning, but they hugged tightly and it was _such_ the best thing she'd ever seen. She hated when her best friends weren't nice to each other.

"Your boob is on my face!" Rachel giggled, blinking rapidly as Brittany kept dancing even with the shorter girl leaning most of her weight on her.

"Your face is on my boob!" Brittany replied, reaching her hands down to unbutton her shorts.

That was when Rachel lost her footing, and slipped off the bonnet, landing in the soft grass.

Within the last week she'd been almost raped, murdered people, assaulted a police officer and committed armed robbery.

And she'd never been happier.

O-O

Quinn awoke with a start, completely disoriented and with her mouth tasting like Finn's gym socks. She screwed her face up, blinking through a headache and feeling like she was covered in a light sheen of sweat.

It was hot, like, really hot.

She cracked open her eyes, making out the roof of her and Rachel's tent just barely – as if it were dawn, or dusk.

Movement against the side of her body made one of her eyebrows raise as she looked down.

Rachel Berry was _spooning_ her, one of the diva's legs thrown over the blonde's, her arm wrapped around her waist.

Quinn let her head drop back down onto the ground.

What had happened?

She remembered Santana crying, and then yelling abuse in garbled Spanish at Rachel when the girl had tried to climb back onto the car after falling off. Brittany had been almost naked, and Santana had crash tackled the diva away from the car while Quinn had struggled to remember that they were trying to _hide_ and not doing a very good job of it.

The Latina and diva had squabbled in the grass for a while, before hugging each other furiously and declaring they should be best friends.

Well, Rachel had declared that. Santana had just sobbed brokenly until Brittany invited her onto the car to dance.

Things were blurry after that, though she did remember falling into the tent sometime in the afternoon and passing out.

And now here she was waking up cuddling Rachel Berry.

The smallest part of her mind immediately threw up arms, demanding she throw the girl off her and snark out a gay joke or something, but she honestly couldn't be bothered. Enough out of the ordinary things had happened to her in recent times, this just seemed like nothing in the scheme of things.

Or, well, not _nothing_. But nothing to have a fit over.

She tightened her hold on the smaller girl, and sighed. It was nice to have someone to hold, someone to care for her. She'd wanted Rachel to get a second chance, she really had. Truly.

But she was relieved the girl was still with them. What had Rachel said? That it was the four of them versus the world.

Brittany and Santana, who always paired up, sure. And now, her and Rachel.

She let her eyes drift shut as her body relaxed.

Seriously, she thought before she passed out again, if Finn could see them _now_.

O-O

They were all far too hung-over to drive. It was out of the question.

Besides, what would one more day in the same spot hurt?

Lying on the grass and looking at stars was actually _much_ nicer than driving, Brittany thought, counting the boobs she could see and thinking about the chained princess and the monster.

Santana was wearing sunglasses, even though it was completely dark and the only light they had was from a small flashlight Rachel had in her glove compartment.

The Latina claimed to remember nothing from the day's drinking, refusing to acknowledge Rachel every time the shorter girl brought up their bonding in the grass.

Quinn, on the other hand, had woken up to Rachel apologizing profusely for their intimate position, but had waved the girl off with a smile. She'd told her it was nice, and it was.

Now Brittany and Santana murmured softly to each other, spreading one of their sleeping bags on the grass and curling up together on top of it. The night was warm enough that they didn't need a blanket, and the sky above them, in the absence of streetlights, shone so brightly with stars it was almost overwhelming.

"Snapple?" Quinn offered, having gone to the car to retrieve more juice. The flashlight beam bounced over the grass as she found her way back to the diva, who had mimicked the other girls and laid her sleeping bag outside of the tent.

"Thank you." Rachel replied softly, taking a sip as Quinn settled in beside her.

"So you know a lot about constellations, huh?" Quinn sipped her own beverage, eyes looking into the stars and relishing the feeling they gave her – of infinity, of endlessness. Like the whole world didn't matter, not in the scheme of things, not compared to the whole universe.

"A little," Rachel shrugged, though Quinn couldn't see her having turned the flashlight off. "More that I know a lot about romantic stories."

The shorter girl's mind turned to Finn once more. Her first love. She had invested so much into the boy, wanting so badly for him to be The One – to even _have_ a One.

"Ah, of course," Quinn laughed softly. "Rachel Berry: hopeless romantic."

"Maybe just hopeless." Rachel answered self deprecatingly, taking another sip of the apple drink.

"Well, what with your options in prison or an even _smaller_ town than Lima," Quinn shrugged. "Might be a little hopeless, now."

Rachel turned her head to where the blonde's voice was coming from, unused to how warm the girl's tone was.

"Did you love Finn?"

It wasn't a question Quinn was expecting, though perhaps she should've, at some point down the road. But with all the law breaking and killing, she hadn't even _thought_ of the boy aside from amusement at what he would say if he knew what was going on.

But in terms of her feelings for him?

"I think I did." She answered, finally. "I mean, how do you _know_?"

Rachel sighed, reaching her hand into the grass next to her sleeping bag and fingering the blades she found.

"Well, popular culture tells us that our hearts beat faster, and our thoughts are consumed by the other person. That our lives become entirely fixed on their well being." Rachel pulled at the blades of grass. When she was little, she would pull until they snapped. But these days, she just pulled gently, because grass was alive too. "And you understand them, and they understand you. But the most important thing in love, the one part above all other things that let's you know for sure, is you put their safety and happiness above your own."

Quinn blew out a breath.

"Then no, I never truly loved Finn."

They were quiet for a few moments as Rachel contemplated Quinn's words.

"I wanted to love him. I was getting there," Rachel whispered, wincing when she pulled too hard and a blade of grass fell from her fingertips.

"But you weren't willing to put him before your future?"

"No. And I don't think I was wrong not to."

"I don't think you were, either."

Quinn leant backwards until she was lying on the sleeping bag, her arms folded behind her head. After a moment, Rachel followed suit.

"Why did you hate me so much?" Rachel's voice was very soft, as if afraid to ask.

Quinn took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. She'd been waiting for this – not just since they'd been on the run, but for last two years of them being in Glee Club. Finn had been a convenient excuse to bitch out the other girl, but he wasn't the sole reason.

Hell, he hadn't even been in the picture when the tormenting had started.

"You remind me of someone. Kind of." Quinn started, her heart rate increasing. "Someone I got rid of."

Rachel's mouth opened and closed a few times, before she sat up in alarm.

"You've _killed_ before?"

Quinn laughed, realizing after the sound left her mouth that it wasn't reassuring the other girl.

"_No_, I wasn't talking – _God_, Rachel, I was talking about myself!"

Rachel was still confused, but she eased back down to lie beside Quinn, and fixed her gaze back on the sky.

"I'm still not following you."

"Remember last year, when I ran for Junior Prom Queen, and that – that poster with the fat girl on went round the school?"

Rachel nodded absently. "Half the school thought it was you, though I was adamant that it was simply a cruel joke played by one of your adversaries."

"Yeah, well, it _was_ me."

Rachel gasped, her mind's eye giving her a blurry memory of seeing the poster.

"No!"

"_Yes_. Why else do you think I wore the Lucy Caboosey shirt?"

"Because of your status as a teenage mother, I assumed it was referring to your – well, um –"

Quinn snorted. "Seriously? You thought I was proudly wearing a shirt calling myself a ho?"

Rachel frowned; glad Quinn couldn't see her face.

"It's not _exactly_ a stretch."

"_Anyway_, it was _actually_ referring to a nickname I had at my old school. Where I was, well, my ass was bigger. And my hair was brown. And my nose – look, I was just different."

"Hang on, you said just a minute ago that _I_ reminded you of this different appearance you once had. But I must argue that my posterior is perfectly proportioned to my body and not at _all_ large."

Quinn rolled her eyes. Rachel was still frustrating to talk to, but now it was a kind of affectionate frustration. Whatever that even meant.

"Rachel, I had no friends. Not one. No one would sit with me or talk to me, everyone thought I was weird and stuck up because I was too shy to talk to people thinking they'd take one look at me and run in the opposite direction. Or pity me. And I got rid of her. I just – I wished her away, and after a year of changing a whole bunch of things, she went."

"Oh, Quinn."

"And there _you_ were, with no friends or status to speak of, strutting around like you didn't _care_ and it – look, I know now it was wrong. But it was easy, Rachel, to torment you because – because –"

Rachel didn't agree with what Quinn was saying. But she understood it.

"Because I did the opposite of what you did. You erased yourself, and I didn't bow to social pressure."

"I wanted to make you bow," she covered her face with her hands. "God, I'm mean."

Just then, Brittany let out a loud gasp as a shooting star fell across the sky.

"I forgive you." Rachel said simply, and quietly.

"Why?" Quinn asked, removing her hands and taking another deep breath. She had never _talked_ so much in her life.

"Because it isn't worth holding onto." Rachel answered. "Besides, we're kind of on the run from the law together, having committed murder multiple times – and you saved my life! I was so absorbed in – anyway, that cook would not have bode well for my physical well-being or continued freedom. So you mustn't hate me anymore, Quinn. If you had you would have left me in there to die or be arrested."

"No, I don't." Quinn whispered, feeling oddly emotional as she had an epiphany. "Even though I changed myself, I still didn't have any friends. Not really."

"But you had Santana, and Brittany?"

Quinn shook her head. "Not really, not before Glee Club anyway. We were friends because we were on the same squad, but – God, _look_ at them, you know? They've been best friends since, like, the dawn of time. It was only really last summer that we got closer, close enough to – they're my best friends in the world, Rachel. But it will always be Brittany and Santana, and then me."

Rachel scrabbled to think of what to say. She wanted to dispute it, Quinn's voice just sounded so _sad_.

"But you had Mercedes, and Kurt!"

"Until I moved back in with my mom, and Kurt went to Dalton and got a boyfriend. Look, it's stupid; I know it's stupid. I'm just saying. I –"

"You have me!" Rachel turned over, reaching for where she approximated Quinn's hand to be in the dark.

"Yeah, and it took a bunch of people dying for us to become friends." Quinn sniffled, trying to keep her tone light.

"No," Rachel answered softly, fumbling for the flashlight and clicking it on so she could see Quinn's face. She shone the light at both of their faces, making eye contact. "I was your friend _before_ all of this, it just –" she leant closer. "It took a bunch of people dying for _you_ to see it."

Rachel clicked the flashlight off as Quinn burst into tears, grabbing the other girl and hugging her.

"Gay!" Santana called out, Brittany giggling and making shushing noises.

"They're being cute! Don't ruin it!"

Rachel pulled back, attempting to wipe the tears from Quinn's eyes, and poking her in them instead since it was too dark to see. Quinn started laughing.

"Ow! Jesus, Berry! I didn't realize being your friend involved pain!"

Rachel giggled, laying back and turning her face to the nighttime sky again.

"Well, get used to it."

It was the lightest Quinn's heart had felt in a long time.

"I keep wondering what they think of us, back in Lima. Especially Finn."

"Me too. But I don't think it's – I don't think we should dwell on it. You were right, just after we left, when you said we should only face forwards."

Quinn hummed happily in agreement.

"Do you know any more constellation stories?"

Rachel paused, thinking. "Not really, but I do know a poem about the one I told you about, if you'd – it's silly, so you don't have to –"

"Tell me."

Rachel smiled, feeling suddenly like everything was going to be all right for them. Somehow. Impossibly.

"The smooth-worn coin and threadbare classic phrase of Grecian myths that did beguile my youth, beguile me not as in the olden days: I think more grief and beauty dwell with truth. Andromeda, in fetters by the sea, star-pale with anguish till young Perseus came, less moves me with her suffering than she, the slim girl figure fettered to dark shame."

And still she saw Quinn chained to a rock by the sea, a monster looming on the horizon ready to devour her because her parents had failed her, so many times. Except now she saw herself as Perseus, swooping down on a winged horse to free the trapped girl, and take her away.

If she could only figure out _where_.

O-O

"Britts, sweetie, you know I _love_ your dancing. It's super hot." Santana started, running her fingertips over the blonde's palm. "But I was thinking, you know, _maybe_, next time, we make our _own_ music?"

Brittany nodded, feeling totally ashamed.

"I'm _so_ sorry, San." She murmured, but the other girl just shushed her.

"Hey, I know you are. It's okay. We just have to get more gas soon, that's all. Even if you did use a whole bunch of it playing your CDs, it's _okay_. Just," she smiled gently. "Maybe we can look for like, a battery operated stereo set or something, so when you wants to dance it don't use all our gas?"

"I'm sorry, guys."

Rachel turned around in the passenger seat, offering the girls in the backseat a bright smile.

"No use dwelling on the past!" She chirped, still replaying the conversation she'd had with Quinn the night before.

Beside her, the ex-HBIC of McKinley now murderess on the run, smiled. Sure, it was a little annoying to get back in the car and realize Brittany had used half a tank of gas _dancing_, but a small part of her was thrilled to hold up another gas station. The first time had been a little overwhelming, but this time she'd keep her cool and make sure to get _only_ those things they really needed.

Plus, breaking the law _without_ anyone dying?

She thought back to that day with Puck – his body above hers, a picture of the Lord above his – and how _good_ it had felt to do something so _wrong_. Sure, it had blown up in her face afterwards, and all the pain and blah blah blah.

But it was exciting. It was _living_. It was grabbing life by the balls – her nose scrunched a little, ew – and saying to _hell_ with the consequences – no, she amended, _fuck_ the consequences – and go with the moment.

She gunned the accelerator, figuring they had a good night's driving left before things would become really dire and they'd have to refill.

Once upon a time, her moments had been empty and lonely. She'd spent her nights dreaming of a life she could have, and praying that things would get better. Then she'd changed herself, and started over, and _still_ found herself praying for things to change, to turn in her favor.

But no more dwelling on the past. Maybe even no more dwelling on what the future could bring? As the girls in the back sang along with the radio, and Rachel harmonized over the top of them, she couldn't keep the grin from her face.

Whatever happened, for the first time in her life, she'd forgotten what it felt like to be lonely.

O-O

"San?" Brittany whispered as she listened to the giggling coming from the other tent.

"Mmm?" Santana was _this_ close to falling asleep.

"Will things ever be like they used to?"

But now she was completely awake.

"No."

It was all she could say, really, and she thought it was pretty obvious but the sudden sniffling sounds coming from her best friend caused her to roll over in alarm.

"I want them to be!" Brittany got out, just barely, seemingly more distressed than Santana had seen her in years.

"Hey, hey, it's okay! Things are so much better now, we don't have to go to classes or –" she ran her fingertips over the crying girl's cheeks, lifting her face gently towards her own.

"Not that!" Brittany hiccupped, leaning into Santana's hands.

"Oh, then – sweetie what are you talking about?"

Brittany took a deep breath, thankful for sleeping in the daylight since it meant she could see Santana perfectly.

"Us."

The Latina's eyebrows shot up, and she leant back.

"Us?"

Brittany followed her retreat, gaze unwavering as Santana tried to look elsewhere.

"You haven't kissed me in a _year_."

Well, there it was. Awkwardness. And just when things had turned _fun_ again.

"Britts, come _on_. It was your idea to be friends, to _just_ be –"

"Yeah, and we are, and now I want you to kiss me again."

Brittany sat up; annoyed that Santana wouldn't look her in the eye. Her best friend was out, and proud, and _so_ amazing just like she knew she would be. _And_ they'd become super close again. Plus, there was no one else, especially out here on the – oh.

"Do you want to be kissing Quinn or Rachel instead? Because we can swap tents." Brittany mumbled sadly. Maybe she could kiss whoever Santana didn't want? She hoped it was Rachel, because Rachel was hot, and also had dark hair so she could pretend, for a little while, that it was Santana.

"Oh _my_ God. _No_."

Which wasn't _entirely_ true, but Brittany was so sad and _of course_ she was her number one choice for – she shook her head. She couldn't _believe_ her mind was now listing the other three in chronological order of who she'd mack on first.

"So you just don't want to kiss _me_? You used to like it."

"I – Britts, it isn't about that. It's – look I _love_ you. You are my _best_ friend. _Ever_. You know that, right?"

Brittany nodded almost imperceptibly, her pout so intense that her top lip had completely disappeared.

"Yeah."

"Last time we – look, we used to kiss and have – make – well, the other stuff, and it was super fun and hot and _awesome_. But I can't do that anymore, not with my best friend."

Brittany felt like her heart was breaking all over again.

"Oh."

Santana shook her head, reaching out and turning the blonde's face back to look at her own.

"I don't mean it like – it's not just kissing and sex now, Britts. Sex _does_ mean dating for me, okay? At least with you. It's super gay, I know it is, but I can't just kiss you and not have _feelings_ involved. It's not – do you get what I'm saying?"

And Brittany did, completely. So much, her pout disappeared and she smiled in relief.

"I would _love_ to date you, I don't just want kissing. I want my San back."

It was only natural to fall into a hug.

"And I want my Britts, back." Santana whispered into blonde hair. "So let's just take it slow and – and see what happens?"

"Okay." Brittany tightened her hold of the other girl, pressing herself as closely as she possibly could.

O-O

"Camp _Crook_?" Santana cackled as they passed the turn off sign. "Oh we _needs_ to be stopping here!"

Quinn flipped the indicator on, chuckling with the rest of her passengers when they saw a second sign.

"We should live here!" Brittany laughed, winding down her window and sticking her head out to survey the approaching town.

"It _is_ tiny." Rachel agreed, looking out for a gas station or convenience store or _something_.

"I don't see any hot ladies or a _Breadstix_," Santana added. "Hell, I don't see much of anything!"

"There's the gas station, and general store, and repair shop, apparently." Quinn muttered, pulling in slowly. "All in one!"

"Okay, so, how are we going to work this?" Santana leant forward, Brittany following suit. Quinn and Rachel each turned to look at them.

"How much money did you steal from the last place? We could just _buy_ what we need?" Rachel offered slowly, her voice trailing off at the eye-rolls from the others.

"Rach, we might need to stay in a motel again or – the cash can be used for other things. We should – we made a pact, okay, no more killing. No one gets shot, we just – take stuff."

Santana lifted the gun up with a grin.

"Amen, Q."

Rachel chose to remain with the car, pumping gas until the tank was full and then waiting in the driver's seat ready for them to burn rubber out of there.

God, this was _so wrong_ but also _so_ intensely thrilling.

Until a police car pulled up, and there were shots from inside.

* * *

><p>"Okay, we work this like the last place. Santana, you hold up whoever's working here and Brittany and I will gather supplies. We get in, we get out. No shots fired, no one harmed. We good?"<p>

The Unholy Trinity stood facing each other, and Santana had a crazy urge to put their hands in the middle in some kind of 'Go team!' encouragement. God, she was turning into the freak.

She lifted the gun and smirked instead.

"Rock and roll!"

Quinn headed immediately for the shelves, eyeing the labels as Brittany followed her lead.

"Just what we need, okay?" She mumbled to the other blonde, as Santana strode into the store.

"Listen bitch, put your hands in the air!" She pointed the gun steadily at the woman in her forties, who in turn narrowed her eyes.

"Like hell I will. Get out of my store!" She replied, heaving herself off of the stool she was sitting on and glaring at them all in turn.

Santana frowned. In her mind's eye she looked _terrifying_ right now. Maybe she had to step it up.

She cocked the gun.

"I will blow your fucking _head_ off if you don't put your damn hands in the air!"

The woman paused before she slowly raised her arms up.

"Fuck, bags! We need bags!" Quinn gestured at Brittany, making a mental note to bring some in with her the next time. What with the hold up, the gun, thinking about what they needed to steal, _baggage_ was the _last_ thing on her mind.

Brittany skipped towards the counter, smiling prettily at the scowling woman and leaning over to fumble with the paper bags. As she pried some lose, the woman moved quickly, and before she knew what was happening, a shotgun was in her face.

"Um." Brittany was now completely unsure what to do. As slowly as possible, she leant back from the counter and raised her hands. "San?"

Santana was frozen, her eyes unable to leave the shotgun that was now pointed at her best friend.

"That's right, girlies, now I'm gonna blow _your_ heads off! Coming in here to rob me like a bunch of – hell, I seen you on the news! Evil little spoilt bitches! I seen what you did to those folks – well, you _ain't_ doing that to me!"

The woman cocked the shotgun, and Brittany whimpered. It was enough to spur Santana into action.

Like she'd been doing it her whole life, she cocked the gun, threw the safety off – thank _God_ for _The_ _Sopranos_ marathons with Puck – and fired four times, straight into the woman's chest.

The shotgun blasted a whole in the ceiling as the woman fell backwards, and Brittany screamed and ran for cover.

"What the –" Quinn started, ducking down behind the shelf she was furiously pinching items from, eyes wide as Brittany skidded to a stop next to her.

"Shit!" Santana breathed, staring at the gun in her hands dumbly.

"Freeze!"

She spun in place, eyes bugging out of her head when she saw a police car parked in front of Rachel's and two cops pointing guns at her from outside.

She was tugged backwards as gunshots broke through the glass doors of the store.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh _fuck_!"

They huddled together; peeking anxiously through the gap in the shelving units as the police officers cautiously entered the store.

"Come out with your hands up!"

Santana was suddenly _extremely_ opposed to being arrested. Not that she had ever been _for_ it, but now, being faced with the likely possibility of everything coming to an end, she thought, _fuck it._

She aimed the gun around the corner of their hiding place, and fired off four more rounds. There was a scuffling sound as the officers took cover.

"This is it," Quinn breathed. "Fuck, this is it. I'm so sorry."

Brittany shook her head. "No, it's okay. I know what to do."

"I got, fuck I don't know, five bullets left? That's enough for – for the three of us to –" Santana wasn't entirely aware of what she was talking about, she only knew she was _not_ going to jail.

"What if they already have Rachel?" Quinn gasped, her heart hammering so loudly she barely registered Santana speaking.

"Guys, I know what to do!" Brittany insisted, though the other two completely ignored her.

Santana felt tears pricking her eyes. She was just so _young_ and still had so much _life_ to give. She took a shaky breath.

"Slide your weapon across the floor! Come out with your hands up! I repeat, put your goddamn hands up!"

Fuck this. She wasn't surrendering like some – she was going to go out gun fucking _blazing_. It was going to be –

"Toss me!"

She turned to Brittany, who was nodding her head determinedly.

"What?" Quinn's voice was barely there, her eyes wide as she kept them trained on the tips of the police hats she could barely see across the store.

"I'm going to count to three, and then you," she made a half basket with her hands, raising her eyebrows at them. "Will toss," she lifted her hands up quickly as if teaching small children a new dance move. "Me."

"I don't –" there was no _way_ Santana was going to do this.

"Or we die or go to jail." Brittany said simply.

"No, I'm not risking you –" Santana wanted to cry. This was just so totally _fucked_.

"Please," Brittany leant closer to her, and kissed her very lightly on the cheek. "Trust me."

It was the hardest thing Santana had ever done, nodding her head and agreeing to toss her best friend – the _only_ person she had ever truly loved – at some police officers that would likely kill her.

But she _did_ trust her. She'd _always_ trusted her. And if they were about to _die_, it was the _most_ important time to keep that trust alive.

"I love you." Santana declared as Brittany moved backwards. She grabbed her own wrist with one hand, crouching in front of Quinn, as the other girl mirrored the position.

They'd done this countless times since Freshman year. Coach Sylvester hated wasting, well, _anything_, especially cheerleaders who could be flipping elsewhere instead of assisting in lifts and tosses. So she'd demanded that only two people were to form the bases during routines. Sure, there were broken ankles, wrists, and noses at least once a year throughout the squad, but it gave them an edge in competition. An illegal, highly dangerous edge, but there it was.

Quinn met her eyes, and they nodded, grasping each other's wrists and forming a basket.

"You have until the count of three to surrender!"

Brittany used the countdown for her run up.

She leapt onto the hands of her best friends, bending her knees and straightening them as the girls supporting her bounced her upwards.

And then she was flying.

She could see the cops with their guns out, and portly bellies, and it relaxed her because they were no match for her. She was young, and fit, and could land in a roll fairly effortlessly without hurting herself. Coach had made her do it more than enough times, anyway.

It was simple, after that. She tucked her head down and used her momentum to carry her up and onto her feet. Then she turned gracefully, wanting to laugh that the cops didn't even know she was suddenly behind them.

She quickly stepped toward them and pushed her hands into the backs of their heads, using a little extra pressure to knock their foreheads against the shelves they'd been using to spy on them.

Just in case they weren't completely knocked out, she detached one of their batons and hit them firmly – but not too hard – on the backs of their heads to send them into a nice sleep.

"It's safe!" She called out happily, so proud that her plan worked.

But of _course_ it did. She was awesome.

Santana and Quinn ran out after her, doing double takes at the still bodies of the cops. Quinn paused, though, and ran back inside after a minute to grab the woman's shotgun and a half empty packet of shells that sat underneath the cash register.

Rachel dropped the softball bat in surprise, having _just_ gathered up the courage to go in after her friends and try and hit at least _one_ of the cops so they could escape. Sure, the other one probably would've shot her, but she couldn't just stay outside while her friends _died_. She had to do _something_.

But suddenly there they were. She burst into tears, so relieved she couldn't even speak.

Quinn sprinted toward them with the shotgun, jumping into the passenger seat and resting the newly acquired weapon by her feet. Rachel climbed into the driver's seat, starting the engine quickly and then reaching for Quinn and hugging her tightly.

"Let's just go." Quinn said, accepting the hug, but feeling too anxious to stay.

The other two were already in the back.

"That was –" Brittany started, but was cut off as the car pulled away from the gas station, general store, repair shop, whatever it was, and away from Camp Crook entirely.

Santana could think of nothing else to do. Could think of nothing else she _wanted_ to do. All that existed was relief, and awe, and love for the crazy girl she could never _ever_ live without.

So she grabbed her roughly by the shirt, and pulled until the blonde's lips were on her own. She kissed the absolute _life_ out of her, pressing closer as Brittany grabbed her shoulders, and then there was nothing but lips, and pressure, and taste.

It was unlike any kiss they'd ever shared. Before, their kisses were always loving, or drunk, or nice and soft. Before, there was passion, but Santana had always been slightly removed from it. Before, they were always just nice.

But this was _need_. This was _relief_. This was two people finding each other again after so long, and realizing they could never exist in a world where they didn't kiss each other. Not ever again.

"So, that was close." Quinn mumbled, awkwardly, trying to ignore the sounds coming from the back seat.

"Y-yes." Rachel stuttered, doing her best not to glance in the rearview mirror and watch.


	5. Part 3a

**Part Three – Some, Some, Some I, Some I Murder, Some I, Some I Let Go**

A generic though energetic, beat starts followed by synthesizers and a guitar riff. Sue Sylvester rests against her desk dressed in a red tracksuit. Her head turns to the camera with a smile; suddenly she is in a blue tracksuit and has her hands on her hips. She gives the camera a cheeky wink; now she's in red again as she lifts a mug to her lips and laughs at something off screen. Next she wears a green tracksuit and points her finger accusingly at the camera, her eyes narrowed in accusation. Finally, she wears black and stands with her arms crossed. The camera zooms in on her face, scowl blurring as her hand is brought up with her fingers slightly curled over her thumb, forming a 'C' shape. The words 'Sue's Corner' are stamped underneath as the music stops.

"Good evening, America! Tonight's show is indeed a special one as I welcome men hailed as heroes after nearly losing their lives to the four teenagers running rampant somewhere in the country – three of whom were once near and dear to my heart. Truly. It's a controversial issue, and I'm not one of those Triple F'ers out there using words like 'political' and 'revolutionary', and making ridiculous portmanteaus because not only are they too lazy to contribute to society by having jobs, they find it difficult to say eight words in a row. However, once upon a time I coached these girls. I taught them certain values; like having strength, and courage, and intimidation tactics passed down by my parents – the best damn Nazi hunters this world has seen – to help them be winners. And then they fell under the misguidance of William Shuester, committed a string of crimes – six murders, three aggravated assaults, and two armed robberies – _that_ is becoming a _mouthful_ – and will likely spend the rest of their lives in prison. It's truly a story of heartbreak, and that heartbreak is my own."

Sue shrugs, shaking her head.

"Some viewers have expressed concerns that I influenced their path of wrongdoing, and let me clear any doubts you may have right now: if I'd taught them to kill – to say, 'Not today, _law_!' – then, frankly, they'd be in a Venezuelan hospital having face transplants right now, with new passports and identities ready to send them into anonymity and escape United States justice forever. Instead they embark on a cross-country road trip, slaughtering and maiming those who get in their way, most of which is caught on film."

Sue sighs.

"But what can you do? Santana, Brittany and Quinn were damn fine cheerleaders – they escaped arrest because of it – and it saddens me that the Government continues to refuse to implement cheerleading squads within the justice system because those talents will soon go to waste. As for Rachel Berry – I never cared for her. In fact, I'm perfectly content damning her name for all eternity. Hell, it wouldn't surprise me if she was leading this crime spree in a bid for popularity."

Sue turns to Camera 3, and three police officers with bandages around their heads can now be seen.

"Three victims have come forward, all of whom have had near misses with the increasingly famous foursome. Gentlemen, welcome!"

The man closest to Sue nods his head, nervously glancing at the camera. The two other men frown sternly in unison. They both have large, bushy mustaches.

"In your own words, tell the nation _exactly_ what happened."

The man closest to Sue clears his throat.

"I pulled them over on account of their – well, they were speeding and that's my job. There was a different license plate, not the one we were told to look out for, so I didn't think to call for – I think these ladies are _especially_ cunning."

Sue squints her eyes, pursing her lips.

"I approached the vehicle and before I could reach for my weapon, one of them hit me real hard. She just appeared out of nowhere, like – like they're _trained_ killers or something."

Sue clucks her tongue, turning her attention to the other two.

"We've all seen the footage from your dealings with the four – I feel I need to repeat this – _teenagers_. Well, gentlemen?"

The man in the middle opens his mouth to speak.

"We were getting our usual ten o'clock Coca-Colas from Elsa – a kind and generous woman – when we heard gunshots from inside the store. Now, we've a small town in Camp Crook, filled with good, honest, people. Gunshots at that time of night? We sprang into action."

The man on the end nods his head.

"We ain't never had something like that happen to us. We were alerted to them girls being on the run, but never in a million years did we suspect they'd come to _our_ town."

His partner nods.

"We were unlucky to find ourselves in the wrong place, at the wrong time."

Sue clasps her hands in front of her, glaring at the men seated on the other side of her desk. She appears to deliberate for a moment, before turning to the camera.

"_Or_ they were in the _right_ place at the _right_ time, but they were the _wrong people_! America, what do I have to do? Saddle myself up a horse and take the law into my own hands? Hell, there was a time when I thought, hey Mister President, Sue Sylvester is yours to command. Give me an army and this world is _yours_."

She shrugs.

"But you deny my application. And now, seasoned, _trained_ police officers employed to keep the citizens of this great country safe are being whacked over the head by little _girls_."

She exhales forcefully through her nostrils.

"You want a hero, America? Well stay tuned. If I have to find these girls _myself_, you can bet your asses I will get the job _done_. Hell, at this rate I may even _join them_. This is _disgraceful_. Turn the cameras off! Somebody get me a protein shake before my head _explodes_ with indignation! And someone call Figgins – tell him _Sue is coming back to McKinley._"

O-O

Sue stands in the centre of the William McKinley High School choir room with Finn Hudson and a balding man in a suit.

"I'm currently standing in the room where, who knows, the girls may have plotted this entire excursion in rebellion. With me? Principal Figgins, who has so far avoided commenting on the fact that four of his students are sending the country into a panic. Oh, and Finn Hudson for some reason I don't especially care for."

Sue turns to the balding man.

"So, what have you got to say for yourself? Not only have you stunted the Cheerios _despite_ our clear and _justified_ superiority over everyone else in this farce you call a school, but now you deny having any contact with four murderers that I know for a _fact_ frequented your office."

"Now, Sue, please do not bring up personal grudges in front of the wonderful nation that is watching."

Principal Figgins does his best to smile reassuringly.

"I will remind you also that you still coach the cheerleaders and they are very talented and good girls. We simply have some funding issues that would be resolved by any generous donations from the public –"

"Once again you are avoiding the issue. Speak!"

Principal Figgins puts his hands up.

"I do not know what you want me to _say_; this is a national tragedy and while we here at William McKinley do our best to foster the growth of children into law abiding adults we _cannot_ control them."

He shrugs.

"Their current life of criminal acts is _not_ because they were students at this school and I urge parents not to transfer students based on these four girls that, even before this, exhibited behavior that was not normal for teenagers."

Sue squints.

"Explain yourself."

"Sue – and America – what can I tell you? Quinn Fabray gave birth during her sophomore year. Santana Lopez announced her homosexuality after _years_ of tormenting others for the same. Rachel Berry has always threatened action for not getting her way, and Brittany Pierce once had a bird in her locker until it died."

Finn Hudson frowns deeply, as Sue shakes her head in disbelief.

"_This_ is why I have petitioned the school board, over and over, to remove this man from his position of power and put me in his place. _Idiot_! Turn his microphone off!"

Principal Figgins splutters, his mouth moving but only the faintest of sounds coming out. Sue pushes past him, moving him out of shot as she addresses Finn Hudson.

"Your turn! You knew the four, spill!"

"Uh – I don't – that isn't –"

"Listen, Lurch, to figure out where they're going I need to find out where they've _been_. Tell me what you know!"

"I'm not on your show to help you, I'm here to help Rachel!"

Finn takes a deep breath, turning toward the camera as Sue sighs.

"Look, I just wanted to say to everybody that she wouldn't do this. I mean, she wouldn't be a part of this if she wasn't being forced to. She isn't a murderer, Rachel is the best singer I know and she – her future is _so_ important to her that – I just think people wouldn't, like, blame her so much if they knew her like I did. Do! Like I _do_."

"Your misplaced, goofy adoration is both charming and nauseating."

"I have all kinds of stuff that prove it. I've got, uh, videos of her singing and letters she wrote me, and – and the Glee Club will tell you that she wouldn't – okay so she can be extreme but,"

He squares his shoulders, looking deeply into the camera.

"I love her."

"Ladies and gentlemen, this heartwarming confession may appear appealing, but before I let this oaf continue – which I will, because of what I am about to reveal – let me just state: not only did Finn Hudson _love_ Rachel Berry, he dated Quinn Fabray _twice_, and had sexual intercourse with Santana Lopez."

Finn's jaw drops, before he squints his eyes in anger.

"None of that has _anything_ to do with –"

"Au contraire, Frankenteen, I believe coming to the defense of those you hold dearest is an admirable trait – if you could call this _defending_ her – but if you're going on national television and make a nuisance of yourself on the Internet, then people need to know the _facts_. This obscenely gigantic _boy_ claims to be acting out of love, even as he throws two of the other girls he committed acts of _love _with under a bus."

"Okay, I did love Quinn once but it wasn't –"

Sue turns to the camera.

"I've heard enough. Triple F – I'm coming for _you_."

O-O

Sue sits at her studio desk, frowning at the two women who sit across from her.

"You do realize that you're defending people who will, more than likely, face a life of incarceration for _murder_."

The first woman – wearing glasses, and with an extremely serious disposition – shakes her head.

"What the nation is focusing on is, we believe, wrong. Do we support murder? No, and I don't believe these girls do either. What struck me from the initial revelation that a man from the roadhouse killings was wanted for rape was that, perhaps, these girls are not outlaws – they're vigilantes. In popular culture we often romanticize people who take the law into their own hands – Robin Hood in traditional storytelling; Dexter Morgan in recent."

The second woman, with rosy cheeks and curly hair, nods enthusiastically.

"We just think that the perspective is all wrong. We don't think they should get _away with it_, but it's just undeniable the impact they're having on the nation! Everybody's talking about them – I heard there's already a movie being planned – and we, really, believe that while they need to face punishment for the crimes they've committed, they shouldn't be demonized."

"Nor blamed for what they're doing. I think their treatment of those police officers says a lot about them – they don't want to kill anybody, they're simply justifiably afraid of the consequences they'll have to face. They're _children_, and they've been brought up in a world where they should feel _shame_ for being themselves. The 'Freedom' part of our title is not meant to imply freedom from the law; simply their right to freely express themselves. To live _life_ free from oppression."

Sue blinks, turning to the camera.

"Well, there you have it folks. Not only am I no closer to locating these delinquents; now I'm just, frankly, confused _and_ concerned."

O-O

"Another armed robbery has taken place outside of Lander, Wyoming. While there were no fatalities, Cherry Robertson not only has a ridiculous first name but also says the four girls were extremely courteous and – this is a direct quote from her statement to police – 'they can rob me anytime!'"

Sue frowns at the camera. Deeply.

O-O

The _Sue's Corner_ theme plays.

"All right, America! Let's get down to business. Tonight I have Sheriff William Brewster – the man initially responsible for investigating the Fabray murder case – in the studio with me tonight. I have to tell you, Sheriff, you're a tough man to find. Care to share, with the nation, why you chose to come forward now?"

Sheriff William Brewster seems disheartened.

"Well, ma'am, the thing of it is that I have been removed from my position in this case due to certain movements within the investigation. The FBI is handling everything from here on out, and I wish them the best of luck with it all, I really do. I will continue to uphold the law and keep on the lookout for these teenagers; we just didn't have access to the types of technology required to find them."

"Clearly."

"This is a damn national tragedy, I'll tell you that. We have people dying – being murdered – all over the place, and when we catch these girls? Four more lives will be lost – they ain't seeing freedom as long as they're alive, that's for sure."

"And tell us, Sheriff: what do you say to those in favor of Triple F?"

He runs his tongue over his teeth, keeping his lips closed, before blowing out a breath.

"Supporting what they're doing isn't right, and it doesn't help them. I have reports from fellow officers in New York City that people are wearing shirts and waving banners and – these girls have fans, ma'am. And I find that very depressing."

O-O

"Five more victims can be added to the tally after being shot in a highway-side diner last night on I-191, Utah. The owners, and three patrons, were brutally murdered by Santana Lopez and Brittany Pierce it what appears to be a senseless act of _fun_."

Footage from a small diner is shown. The camera, focused on the cash register, catches two teenage girls cuddling as they stand in front of the counter and a woman stands behind it, serving them. One turns to the other and leans closer, before both turn to look at something beyond the camera's reach. The girls appear to be gesturing at something. After a few moments, one reaches behind her back and pulls out a gun.

The footage is cut. The next shot shows the girls kissing. In the bottom corner, the upper shoulders and head of someone appears to be lying on the floor. The woman behind the counter is gone.

"I don't know what to say, America. But I will tell you this: sitting in this studio and roaming the halls of William McKinley High School is no longer enough for Sue Sylvester. So I've resigned as Cheerios coach – it was _my_ choice to leave, Figgins had no say in the matter – and am dedicating myself full time to _Sue's Corner_. You cried out for more, and I'm giving it you! Tomorrow my camera crew and I will bid farewell to Lima – the small town at the heart of this national spectacle – as we're hitting the road in pursuit of the girls. We'll be there at _every_ stop and crime scene along the way. I will _personally_ be taking you on the same journey as Quinn Fabray, Santana Lopez, Brittany Pierce and Rachel Berry. I will _personally_ investigate every shred of evidence I find and offer it to you, the nation, to see for yourself. And at every turn, at every _step_ of the way, I will give you the _truth _as _I_ see it. You just have to ask yourselves one question, America:"

The camera zooms in on Sue's scowl.

"Can you _handle_ it?"

O-O O-O O-O O-O

Santana's hand pressed into Brittany's side, gathering the material of her shirt into a fist. She just couldn't stop kissing the blonde; couldn't tear her lips away as her mind replayed over and over the image of Brittany running towards her and Quinn; of the fear that actually _gripped_ her heart when the cheerleader disappeared from her sight.

Like, _okay_, she was okay and her plan worked and now they were making out like no one's business a safe distance from Camp Crook. But it just wouldn't leave her mind – Brittany could've _died_ and she _never_ would've been able to kiss her again.

"Hey," the blonde whispered softly, pulling her mouth away. "It's okay."

But it wasn't. _Nothing_ was okay. Santana followed the retreat, pressing herself closer, hand slipping lower.

Brittany whimpered, arching into the touch and struggling to remember what she needed to say. She had to say something. Something _so_ important. But all the feelings in her body were totally distracting.

Santana moved to her throat, running her tongue from her collarbone to the underside of her jaw.

She was glad they were in their tent, now, and that Quinn and Rachel couldn't see them. They'd seemed super awkward about the whole making out business, and Brittany hated making other people feel bad.

Especially doing something that felt so _good_.

She didn't want to stop it, but she had to. Just for a little bit. Santana had tears leaking out of her eyes, and this was meant to be something happy.

"Wait, San." Brittany breathed, and Santana shook her head, tightening her hold of the blonde.

"We can't wait," Santana bit out, before her voice was cut off by what sounded like a sob. "We can't –"

"Hey, _hey._" Brittany wrapped her arms around the other girl, tucking Santana's head into the crook of her shoulder. "Don't be sad."

"You almost –" Santana's shoulders shook. "Britts, you could've –"

"But I _didn't_."

It was a simple answer, but it did nothing to comfort the Latina as her whole body shook. All of sudden, everything had just become so _real_. Russell Fabray; being on the run; shooting that woman _four times_; the likelihood that not only would she lose the rest of her life, she'd lose Brittany too.

It was too much.

So she sobbed into the blonde's shoulder, feeling like a total failure and idiot.

"Baby," Brittany murmured. "Please don't be so sad."

She loved when her best friend was real, and true to herself. But this just hurt too much because Santana was so strong and right now, she knew it was killing her to feel so _weak_.

"There's – there's nothing –" Santana sobbed. "to be happy about!"

Brittany sighed, dragging her hands up Santana's back and starting to rub slow, firm circles.

"There's lots to be sad about, San. I know there is. I'm super sad about them too, but," she breathed in the smell of the other girl's hair, reveling in how _right_ this felt to be so close to her. "I don't have to be sad about them right _now_. I have _so_ much to be happy about. I'm with you, and you're kissing me, and we have the whole day to be together. That makes me so happy, do you know that?"

"But we don't have much time left! We're going to – going to get caught or –"

"Maybe we don't have much time, and maybe we will be caught. But, San, do you _like_ feeling sad?"

Santana frowned, shaking her head, unwillingly to lose any of the proximity with the other girl.

"So why do it when you don't have to?"

"Britts, we are _on the run_ –"

"Yeah, and right now we're safe. We're in our tent. We're totally going to have sex soon, too. None of that is sad!"

"But I –"

Brittany stopped rubbing circles, reaching her hands up to gently push against Santana's shoulders until they were face to face.

"Stop saying that. You know I'm right." She leant forward, kissing the other girl gently. "Just be with me now, okay? Because now is _happy_."

Santana took a deep breath, staring into the blue of other girl's eyes. She really looked into them, completely unabashed and unafraid, feeling a strange relaxation spreading through her body as her tears dried.

Once again, Brittany was right. Once again, Brittany was saving her ass.

The girl who once broke her heart, and whose heart she had broken in return.

The girl who had approached her in the playground when they were five years old and asked her why she was sitting on her own. Who had, subsequently, declared them to be best friends because, unlike her younger self had feared, she _was_ interesting. Who had stayed by her side and given her the confidence to speak out because, as it turned out, she had a _lot_ she needed to express.

Brittany was her saving grace from _everything_, and it had once frightened the shit out of her to be so dependant on one person.

But now she was thankful. Extremely so. Because yeah, sure, maybe everything would come to an end. Maybe they'd be arrested and sent to separate prisons and not allowed to contact each other. Maybe they'd even die.

But fuck the maybes. Fuck them! Brittany was right – she'd be sad about them when they happened. _If_ they happened. And for the time being?

She had a beautiful, gorgeous, blonde beneath her body that knew all the right buttons to push to make her feel happy_._

And they had the _whole_ day.

* * *

><p>"I am <em>so<em> happy for them!" Rachel said a little too brightly as she lay next to Quinn, and couldn't help but overhear the increasing moans and whimpers coming from the tent twenty feet away.

It was as far away as they'd been comfortable setting up their tent. But, perhaps, it wasn't _quite_ far enough.

"Mmhmm," Quinn hummed, wincing as she heard a loud and passionate cry.

Rachel blinked, doing her best to ignore the flush that was steadily creeping over her cheeks. The amorous sounds of their cohorts was doing _things_ to her that – while she knew were perfectly normal reactions to exposure to physical expressions of love – she wasn't entirely comfortable with.

"So." She would just attempt to distract herself. "That was a close call back there, I'm still rather shocked that we managed to get away."

Quinn hummed her agreement again, gritting her teeth. Goddamn it had been a _long_ time.

"In fact, I'd go so far as to say that it was divine chance that we escaped without injury. What with the array of weaponry that," there was dual moan from Brittany _and_ Santana and Rachel's imagination struggled to identify what would cause such a reaction. "Uh, was – I – what was I saying?"

Quinn exhaled steadily, closing her eyes and trying to imagine things that would counteract her body's reaction. This? _So_ unpleasant. She thought of childbirth, of how her body had been _ripped_ – of course, thinking of childbirth led her mind to thinking of the act that had caused it.

"Don't know," the blonde mumbled, hands clenching tightly around fistfuls of her sleeping bag.

The moaning and panting became a steady, rhythmic sound.

Rachel cleared her throat.

"Quinn?"

"Mmm?"

"What does it – when you have – what was it like to –"

_Oh God_. Quinn's eyes flew open. She looked at the other girl, who was blushing and looking at her beseechingly.

"_Really_? Rachel, I don't think –"

"I just – did it hurt?"

This was the most awkward moment of her life. This freaking girl she'd shared _two_ boyfriends with, who she now lay in _very_ close proximity to, wanted her to talk about having sex while two people very _loudly_ did exactly _that_ a few feet away.

"Yes."

Maybe if she kept her answers to one word, the interrogation wouldn't last?

"Did it hurt the whole time or – what I mean to ask is, does it get – well, like _that_?"

Santana was moaning now in Spanish, and Brittany seemed to be on an endless loop of '_Oh!'_

Quinn swallowed.

"I don't think _anyone_ gets like that but them."

Rachel was thoughtful for a few moments, thinking of the make out sessions with Finn that usually left them both panting.

"I admit things would get a _little_ hot and heavy with Finn –"

Quinn rolled her eyes. Well _there_ was a good de-motivator for her sex drive.

"But then he'd yell, _'Mailman!'_ and it was all over?"

Rachel gasped. Then she giggled.

"Sometimes I forget that we _shared_ certain experiences."

"I wish I could forget," Quinn smiled, trying to lessen the inadvertent sting her words would probably cause. She was just frustrated, and still the girls in the other tent grew louder.

"Was that – the _'Mailman!'_ aspect – was that why you slept with Puck?"

Rachel rolled over, pushing herself to rest on one elbow as she watched the blonde's brow furrow. Quinn lay on her back, her head tilting to look at Rachel.

"No."

The brunette just looked at her expectantly until Quinn sighed, rolled onto her side to face Rachel, and mirrored her position.

"No?"

"No. That day was a really bad day for me. I'd put on a couple of pounds – I don't know how it happened – but Coach chewed me out about it all afternoon, and all I could think was," she shook her head as Rachel's eyes softened. "I was going back to being Lucy, you know?"

Rachel had dreamt about having girl talk with a best friend her whole life. She had to stop the tears from pooling in her eyes at the sheer joy that came from finally experiencing it. Sure, there were crude and vulgar sounds echoing around them as it happened, and she _had_ played a rather dramatic part in the consequences of the experience Quinn was currently describing, but still.

"And he made you feel wanted?"

Quinn shrugged a little.

"Yeah, I guess so. I don't know, Rachel. That's the honest truth – I don't know _why_ I let it happen. As soon as I saw the wine coolers he brought? I knew. I knew where it was heading, and I just –" she sighed, remembering the nervous fluttering in her stomach as she'd let the boy into her house. "I'd just felt so _bad_ all day and it was something that made me feel the opposite."

Rachel nodded in understanding.

"And Finn couldn't do that for you?"

It was an innocent enough question, but it made Quinn bristle.

"You mean my perfectly sweet but totally _bland_ boyfriend who always came before I could even get _aroused_? Because, as he said, I was just too _hot_ for him to be able to control himself?"

Rachel frowned slightly. "I didn't mean –"

"_Yes_, Rachel, I _enjoy_ looking elsewhere for things I already _have_."

It was a tense moment in the tent as they stared at each other.

Orgasmic moans made them both cringe and break eye contact, as heat rushed to their faces.

"I'm sorry, Quinn. That was an unfair question." Rachel's voice was timid as she fought to control her breathing.

"No, it wasn't," Quinn replied, closing her eyes for a few moments and then opening them again. "Puck was – attentive, as hard as that is to believe. Finn was sweet but – safe, and just so – but with Puck? It wasn't like _that_," she nodded in the direction of the other tent. "At _all_."

"I've just never – I have a plan to lose my –" Rachel cut herself off as a feeling of dread took the place of arousal in her stomach. "I _had_ a plan to lose my virginity at a defined point in my future. Now I will die a virgin, it seems. So I apologize for my invasive questions."

The other girl just looked, suddenly, so crushed that Quinn relented completely.

"You want to know the truth? I enjoyed the feeling more than the act, if that makes sense. I mean, it wasn't hard to become celibate again afterwards because the sex itself? It hurt, and it was kind of gross, and I was so out of it that I kind of don't remember it completely. He physically got off – obviously, or else Beth would never have happened – and I mentally got off on what was happening. But _that_?" She inclined her head again, as ever so slowly, the whimpering and moaning started up again. "I don't think I'll ever have _that_. So I may not be dying a virgin, but I'm still in the same boat as you are – you'll probably die without having sex, and I'll _definitely_ die without _actually_ enjoying it."

Quinn lay back down, staring at the roof of the tent as the words she'd just uttered hit her in full force.

"Perhaps," Rachel started timidly, eyeing the other girl. "We should, um –"

The blonde's head turned to look at the brunette so quickly she almost gave herself whiplash. Was she about to suggest what she thought she was about to suggest?

" – make an effort to take earplugs during the next hold up?"

Quinn blinked a few times, wanting to slap herself or laugh at the _preposterous_ thought that had _almost_ appeared in her mind. God, she was so turned on she'd just –

She shut it down quickly. Earplugs were a _great_ idea.

O-O

Rachel drove them into Wyoming that night, blinking her eyes against the desire to fall asleep since Brittany and Santana hadn't stopped until well after lunchtime. They'd set off as soon as it was dark, eager to get away from South Dakota, and still running out of supplies since all they'd managed to steal from the last hold up was a shotgun and fuel.

Brittany and Santana kissed lazily in the backseat, completely intertwined. It was sweet, Rachel assured herself, doing her best not to feel jealous of the happiness they'd re-ignited in each other.

Beside her, Quinn kept her attention on the passenger window and ignored everyone.

They would have to have a tactical conversation so they could, hopefully, avoid situations like Camp Crook occurring again. And there was no time like the present, Rachel thought. Besides, she was still uncomfortably _tingly_ in certain places and the silence in the car was only heightening her awareness of that fact.

"I believe we should formulate a new plan for holding up establishments. I assume, despite the near catastrophe of the last one, that we will do so again what with the arsenal we now find ourselves with and the steady pace we consume the products we steal."

They all ignored her.

Santana had just spent the day having the most mind blowingly amazing sex she'd ever had. Hell, she hadn't even _dreamt_ sex could be like that. Like, sure, they'd had some pretty amazing sex in the past, but now? She didn't know if it was the time away from each other, the near-death experience, or neither of them being afraid of pushing the other too far anymore, but holy hot _damn_. It was a shame they had to keep driving, because that? She could do that every second for the rest of her life.

Brittany kept her lips on Santana, since every time she took them off she started to forget what it felt like and just had to remind herself. She thought it might be making the other girls awkward still, but she couldn't pull herself away. Plus, Santana had never been so _open_ with her before that it made her heart want to burst into a rainbow. A double rainbow. _All _the way across the sky. She sighed happily, sucking the Latina's bottom lip into her mouth and lightly dragging her tongue over it.

Santana moaned throatily, increasing her hold on the blonde, as Rachel suddenly slammed on the brakes.

"Enough!" She shrieked, pulling the car over. "One of you swap with Quinn right now or I am driving us to a police station. Do you not understand that your public displays of affection – though heartwarming – are extremely insensitive to both Quinn and I?"

Rachel's chest was heaving as the girls in the back pulled away from each other in shock, and Quinn opened her car door wordlessly.

Santana wanted to say _something_ but Brittany just shrugged at her helplessly as she scooted over to the door and got out.

"Sorry." She murmured to Quinn as they passed each other.

"It's okay." Quinn mumbled back, embarrassed by Rachel's outburst but also thankful for it. At this rate she was considering suggesting they stop in the next town, find a motel and – and go on a _manhunt_ of their own.

Rachel started the car again, heart thumping in her chest.

"Now that I have your attention – do any of you have suggestions for improvements on our hold up technique? Not that waving a gun around and scrambling for as much as we can carry is exactly a _technique –_"

"We have more guns now, enough to carry one each. Two can act as lookouts, two can go in. Done." Quinn shrugged, staring at the same darkening view, just now from the backseat.

Santana folded her arms defiantly.

"You know, Berry, I didn't take you for a homophobe."

Rachel gasped, hand flying to her chest as she glanced at the rearview mirror, barely making out Santana's face.

"I am _not_ a homophobic individual and I _resent_ that you would even _suggest_ such a thing." Rachel was deeply wounded. Of all the things Santana had ever said to her, this was by far the worst.

"Well, judging by your outburst back there? Either you're a homophobe, or the sight of me and Britts getting our love on turns you on."

Rachel opened her mouth, and then closed it again. Quinn kept her eyes on her window, thankful she hadn't said anything and so could avoid the same accusations being thrown her way. Santana had a way of backing people into a corner because whatever way they denied her accusations damned them anyway.

"It's okay if it does, we're really hot," Brittany supplied, missing the feeling of kissing the girl in the backseat. She wanted to pout.

Santana leant forward, hear head appearing in the space between the two front headrests.

"I bet it gets the midget here _really_ hot and bothered, listening to the sounds Brittany makes when she feels my _fingers_ on her skin," she exhaled forcefully, directly onto the side of Rachel's neck. "Sliding down her _body_, pressing against the _wetness_ she gets just from kissing me,"

Rachel's mouth had gone dry. Immediately, a thousand arguments and protestations flew into her mind to get Santana to _stop talking_. And yet, her mouth completely disobeyed her.

Quinn gulped, able to hear Santana clearly, and completely unable to say anything or block out her voice. What the _hell_ had happened to her? She was meant to be thinking about the next place they would hold up, and where they should camp next, and a million other things that would keep them _alive_ and _out of jail_. She'd become a mess of sexual frustration, instead.

Brittany turned her face to Santana, nuzzling into the girl's neck as Santana continued speaking close to Rachel's ear.

"Bet it made you _all_ hot and bothered, and totally jealous, hearing us _fucking_ so close by," Santana was seriously _pissed_ that Rachel had made Brittany move. And judging by her reactions to what she was saying? Hell, Rachel was _already_ regretting butting her nose in. _No one_ got between Santana and Brittany's sweet lady kisses. "Sliding our naked bodies together, making each other _come_ again and again and –"

Rachel squeaked and slammed on the breaks again, pulling over.

"Quinn! Swap with Brittany! Brittany just, _please_, shut her up!"

Santana would've cackled if her mouth weren't busy doing other, more enjoyable, things again.

O-O

Quinn took over the driving when Rachel started getting seriously drowsy just after midnight. The girls in the back had finally stopped kissing, and now slept soundly. Brittany's head lay on Santana's chest, moonlight shining on both of them since the absence of streetlights meant the full moon lit up the countryside in a soft, white glow.

Quinn's libido had finally stopped short-circuiting her brain. Everyone else was sleeping, the view thanks to the moon made the world around her seem even _more_ surreal, and her mind finally set to the task of reviewing what had happened in Camp Crook – what she could've done then, and could do now, to ensure that kind of thing didn't happen.

Had the woman at the front pressed some kind of panic button? How had the police gotten there so quickly? Was it some kind of crazy coincidence?

What they would do, the next time, was be careful. They needed to swap the license plate on the back of the car over again, somehow. They needed to have someone on the lookout, and some kind of signal system so the people inside had a better chance of reacting to potential arrest and police gunfire instead of panicking and having their minds go blank.

Thank God for Brittany.

She was sure Santana would deny it, but for a moment in there? She'd been _sure_ the girl was going to suggest they use the remaining bullets to shoot themselves. Which made her chest tighten, because _no way_ would she let these girls die. Not after they followed her this far, and had gotten involved on _her_ behalf in the first place.

If they were arrested, she reasoned, it would be bad. But it would be better than death, surely. At least in prison they would have beds to sleep in, and a constant supply of food and medical attention. They would also, she mused, have a certain end date.

Right now? Sure, they could drive until they died. They could drive until they were caught. They could drive, and drive, and never stop. Having so many options? On the one hand it made her feel free, and almost eager to discover which outcome it would be. Maybe it would even be something she hadn't thought of yet?

But at the same time, the uncertainty had her on edge. At least with a jail sentence she'd _know _that death wasn't just around the corner. At least with a jail sentence she'd know that the other girls were safe.

She rolled her eyes. She'd adjusted fairly well to everything in the last few weeks, she mused. But it was still disconcerting to be having these thoughts at _all_.

Faint lights in the distance shut her mind up momentarily. As she drove closer, she saw a run-down but still operational motel by the side of the road with a car parked out front.

She smiled, checking the license plate issue off of her list.

The others slept through the car pulling over, and when she jogged back to attach the Minnesota plate, the girls were sleeping as soundly as she'd left them.

As she drove them onwards, she idly wondered how far away they'd be when the owners of the pickup truck realized one of their plates was now from Florida.

The thought made her chuckle.

* * *

><p>Quinn had the tents set up by the time Rachel cracked her eyes open, stretching as the sun shone through the windscreen directly onto her face.<p>

"Breakfast?" Quinn asked her as she slowly made her way toward the blonde, still stretching and cracking her joints as she walked.

"Sure," Rachel replied, yawning and looking around them. "Where are we?"

"Bighorn National Forest, Wyoming."

The brunette blinked her eyes groggily, rolling them when she heard giggling and whispers coming from one of the tents.

"They're still at it, then?"

Quinn shrugged, spooning vegetable soup into a plastic bowl and handing it to the shorter girl.

"I've put us over there. _Way_ over there." Quinn pointed to the other side of the car, and Rachel smirked. "Also, I suggest we get wasted. We'll pass out, and then it won't matter how loud they are."

At Quinn's words, the giggling began to turn into breathy moaning.

Rachel ate a few spoonfuls of soup as Quinn rummaged through everything in the car for the half empty bottle of Jack Daniels.

A short time later, Rachel couldn't stop giggling and leaning into Quinn as they lay in their tent, the liquor bottle completely empty.

"You dated Finn, Puck and Sam," Rachel started. "So one would assume that your type is football people."

Quinn snorted, thankful she was laying down since everything was just so _blurry_. She'd already been exhausted. Now she was so drunk she didn't know _what_ was going on.

"My type is – is – _not_ football." She said, eyes wide as she struggled to keep them open. It was so _hard_ all of a sudden.

"You tell me your type and I'll tell you mine!" Rachel squeezed the other girl, half lying on top of her.

"Mmmm it changes," Quinn started, blinking rapidly as she wrapped her arms around the body that was attached to hers. "Right now? As long as they're breathing."

Holy whoa, she thought. No, no, _no_.

Rachel giggled again. "I hereby pronounce you and Jacob Ben Israel as a happily married couple."

Quinn almost gagged; she could see the boy's pale face leaning towards hers; hear his voice in her head; imagined grabbing onto his stupid afro as they fell onto a bed –

She sat up, knocking Rachel off her and shaking her head. Why was her mind suddenly defaulting to sex all the damn time?

"Hey, I'm sorry. Hey you! Come back here!" Rachel reached her arms up feebly, and Quinn fell back into them, head spinning.

"_Attractive_ people that are breathing." She mumbled, turning her body so now _she_ was the one spooning the other girl. Well, this was new.

"Mine is, um, oh! I know! They have to be able to sing. But not better than me. Complimentarily to my voice."

"Is that even a word?"

"Shhh, just go with it. Now, also they have to be attractive. One cannot make love with someone unattractive because it has to be mutually explosive."

"What? That didn't even make sense. You aren't a sense maker. Get out of my tent!" Quinn snuggled closer to the other girl, despite the words coming out of her mouth. Sure, Rachel was blabbing like an idiot, but she _smelt_ so –

Alarms were going off somewhere in the back of Quinn's head. It was _so_ annoying.

"Mutually – something. Okay. Tall! But taller than me isn't hard. So, singing and taller, and attractive. Also nice, and willing to be vegan with me because it's _hard_ when the person you're with just eats _everything_ and you have nothing. Also, a vegan would _never_ throw eggs at me."

Quinn nodded her head sleepily, feeling as if a blanket made of cotton was being pulled over her mind. Her eyes just couldn't stay open anymore, and she was so warm and comfortable.

"Similar interests, too. That would be nice." Rachel yawned, mindlessly drawing spirals on the other girl's back, not even noticing she'd fallen asleep. "Smart would also be a change. Just someone I admire," her eyes slipped shut. "As much as they admire me."

Her final thought as she mentally pictured her exes – Finn, Puck and Jesse – was that maybe it was time she tried someone _blonde_.

* * *

><p>Brittany sighed contentedly in Santana's arms, loving the feeling of so much warm skin pressing against her own.<p>

"I love you." Santana murmured into the back of her neck, kissing along her shoulder.

"I love you." Brittany replied, grinning lazily because she was _so_ sleepy.

"I'm sorry about all the – that stuff that happened last year was just – I was –"

Brittany rolled over, pulling the other girl flush against the front of her.

"I forgive you." She kissed her gently. "I'm sorry too."

Santana nodded slightly, unable to stop the flicker of hurt that passed over her eyes because it _still_ stung a little – seeing Brittany with Artie, the way she had smiled at him and – that smile was _hers_.

"I forgive you too. But it," she licked her lips, thumbs caressing the blonde's cheeks as she gazed at her. "Had to happen to get me to – God, I don't even know _why_ I was so scared, you know? It was stupid."

Brittany shook her head forcefully.

"You have _never_ been stupid. Don't say that. San, you're the smartest person I've ever met. But even smart people get scared."

Santana swallowed.

"And _you_ are the smartest person _I_ know."

"You make me feel smart. I like it."

"I like _you_."

"I _love_ you."

"I love you _more._"

Santana was thankful the other tent was further away, and the other girls couldn't hear her. She would _vomit_ if she heard someone being so sappyand shit. It was gross, and all this open emotional crap was still new. But coupled with their current lifestyle?

Well, whatever. She had a new outlook on life. A new philosophy, delivered by a gorgeous blonde and a _fuckload_ of orgasms. And it basically boiled down to this:

If she was going to be arrested, or die, sometime in the uncomfortably _near_ future, she was going to make sure she had no regrets when it came to Brittany. A year ago she'd been damning a kid in a wheelchair – and herself – because she hadn't stepped up when she should've. Brittany had broken her heart, sure, but it wasn't entirely the blonde's fault. She could admit, now, that it was hers. Brittany had put her heart on the line first, and Santana had fucked it up.

Well, not again. This was likely the last chance they had to be together. And really, fuck it. Fuck all of them. Fuck fear and doubt, and jealousy and all of it.

She was with Brittany _now_, and as the girl said – now was happy.

O-O

Santana drove the following night, since Quinn and Rachel were hung-over and refused to speak or do much more than snooze in the backseat. Rachel fell sideways, once, landing on Quinn and waking her up. She groggily shifted herself, wondering if she should just cuddle the other girl and be done with it.

But she caught Santana's eyes in the rearview mirror, and roughly pushed the smaller girl until she was leaning against the door, instead.

O-O

"It's like a miracle!" Rachel said happily, swaying in place as she held the vodka bottle close to her chest.

"Something like that," Quinn muttered angrily, trying to ignore the sex noises _again_ and seriously what the _fuck_? Were her bee-eff-effs sex maniacs or _what_?

"I mean, I was just looking for my shoe under the seat and it was there all by itself!" The brunette took another swig before cradling the bottle once more. "Such a miracle!"

"It must've fallen out, that's all. It isn't a _miracle_!" Quinn yelled back.

"Stop being a grump! I don't like it!" Rachel declared, taking herself and the bottle of vodka into their tent with a huff.

Quinn turned the car off, having painstakingly adjusted the angle of its parked position so many times that she now just wanted to ram the thing into a _tree_. It just wouldn't fucking sit right!

She stormed into the tent, snatching the vodka bottle out of the diva's hands and taking a long drink.

"Finn was right about you," Rachel said primly, though slurring slightly.

Quinn sat down heavily next to her, glaring at the sulking brunette.

"What did he say about me?" She took another swig, finally feeling her head starting to spin. She'd be passed out in no time. She couldn't wait.

"I'm not telling you unless you ask me nicely!"

Quinn grit her teeth because she hadn't committed murder in a _while_ now but she was _this_ close to turning their miracle vodka bottle into a weapon.

"Please tell me." Her teeth didn't even separate as she spoke, but Rachel relented because she wanted the bottle back.

"He told me about the drunk categories of people. I didn't even know!" She reached for the bottle, happy when the other girl let her take it. She drank deeply.

"Drunk what?"

"Well, Santana is a crying drunk. See? And Brittany is a stripper, and you are a grump."

"_What_?"

Rachel shrugged, because the tall boy had been right. She didn't really see the issue.

"It fits. You can't deny it."

"Like _hell _I can't_. _But before I do; what did he say you were?"

Rachel blinked a couple of times before handing the bottle back.

"A needy drunk," she said in a small voice, noting how she had already leant towards the other girl and was trying to figure out how she could cuddle her while they were seated like this.

It couldn't be done, she decided, moving to lay down.

"He is _such_ a dick," Quinn muttered, drinking once more before resting the bottle carefully on the ground and mirroring Rachel's laying down position.

Rachel mentally high fived herself, straight away cuddling up to the blonde.

"But he's right!" She slurred, closing her eyes because they felt like they were moving in different directions.

"No, he's an inconsiderate _ass_, and he's _wrong_. _I'll_ tell you what kind of drunks we all are without resorting to simple, _dumb_ labels." Quinn waited until Rachel's eyes opened before speaking again. "Firstly, Santana isn't a _crying_ drunk; her insecurities just come out when she's had something to drink. It's what alcohol does, but what would Finn know?" She wasn't exactly sure where her sudden hatred of the boy came from, but there it was. "She acts all tough, but deep down? Just like the rest of us – distracting the world from her self doubts by pretending they don't exist. She _cries_ because she covers up so much when she's sober that it bursts out of her when she's drunk. And Brittany? She's just a happy, free person. What does she have going for her? She can _dance_. Booze shuts off her brain and her body takes over. I don't know why she gets naked, but maybe it's more of a freedom thing? She _doesn't_ do it to get money, or get guys hard. She doesn't care if _anyone's _watching, and _that's_ why she isn't a stripper."

Rachel opened her eyes and gazed at Quinn, wide-eyed. She was hanging onto every word. Quinn was _so_ smart.

"And me?" She whispered, almost afraid of what the other girl would say.

"Rachel, you aren't _needy_ and he is such an asshole for saying that to you. You – okay, you are a very affectionate person. Right? Except, like me, you haven't had many friends or people around that you can express that to. And you're always – Rachel, your voice is _incredible_ yet you're always looking for validation from other people. You just try so damn hard to get people to like you, and in the past, it never worked. You just ended up pushing them away. So it makes sense that when you're drunk that part of you that wants closeness and whatever takes over. You probably _ache_ to have someone show you the same affection."

Rachel felt tears in her eyes; she couldn't help it. It was all so true and she was just so drunk.

"I didn't even think he was insulting me when he said that. I just thought I was being annoying."

"See? Total asshole."

"Okay, now I'll do you." Rachel sat up, squinting at Quinn in concentration.

Quinn ignored the multiple meanings one could take from what the girl had said. She disentangled herself, reaching for the vodka because if she was still making that much sense she was not nearly drunk enough.

She ignored the small voice that pointed out that Santana and Brittany were quiet at the moment, so she didn't actually have to be inebriated any further than she was.

"You changed yourself because, um, you didn't have friends and thought it would get you them. Except, changing outsides doesn't fix the insides, so you were," Rachel chewed on her bottom lip before her face cleared and she gazed at Quinn softly. "Lonely. Your parents were failures when it came to you, and your sister was naturally blonde and beautiful. They always compared you, and you always fell short."

Quinn kept drinking, handing the bottle back to the brunette as she felt tears prick her eyes. She fought against them.

"Go on."

"Then people found you attractive, you moved schools and eventually ended up dating the quarterback. But he just, uh, well, I'm kind of tipsy right now so I'll just be crude – he had an orgasm every time you got close and pretty soon, it was _all_ your relationship was about – him getting off on how you looked but having no idea who you _were_. So you slept with his best friend, because you had become a _thing_ and you were afraid of losing that because if you lost your new looks, you thought you'd lose _everything_. But that led to you being pregnant, and giving your child up so she could have a better life far away from teenage parents who weren't even together, and a family that had already let her mother down _so many_ times," she had never considered half of the things now falling out of her mouth. Poor Quinn, she mentally cried, this was so _tragic_. "Then you went back to the life you had before her, or you tried to, but you couldn't. You jumped at the first boy who said he loved you, but you didn't love him; watched as the father of your child fell in love with someone who physically resembled the person you used to be and thought could never _be_ loved; and the sweet boy who once couldn't control himself around you now couldn't control his feelings for _me_."

Quinn sniffled. "See, I'm not a _grump_. I'm just – just –"

"You just have a lot of frustration, underneath it all. I apologize, Quinn, I do. I don't know why I didn't question him –"

But Quinn just shrugged. "Because when you're in love with someone you believe everything they say as truth."

"Have you ever been in love?"

"No." Quinn took a deep breath, turning to Rachel with a rueful smile. "Probably never will be, either. Not now. Not with life like this."

Rachel shuffled closer to the blonde, laying her head against her shoulder.

"For what's it worth; you are the bestest friend I've ever had, and I – Quinn, I love you."

Quinn couldn't reply, couldn't form any words at all. Just lay her head on top of this silly, impossible girl and relished the feeling of having a best friend – who was truly _hers_ – finally, after all this time.

O-O


	6. Part 3b

Santana stretched, yawning as the sun set around them. Usually Quinn and Rachel were the first ones up, but once again they were still asleep by the time her and Brittany dragged themselves out of their tent.

She trudged over to the other one, unzipping it and sticking her head inside, her nose crinkling at the smell that came out of the thing. There was a vodka bottle tipped on over, the contents spilled in a puddle on the tent floor, and it _stank_.

"Jesus fucking Christ, are you serious?" She asked the sleeping girls, even more annoyed when they didn't move. She pushed her leg into the space, kicking both of them once. "Get up, alcoholics! We need to leave, and also? Thanks for sharing the booze, assholes!"

She stomped back to the tent Brittany was dismantling, rubbing the back of her neck tiredly.

"It's okay, I'll drive." Brittany smiled, and Santana returned it softly.

* * *

><p>"That one." Santana pointed at a gas station beside the highway, it's lights the only ones they'd seen since the town they had passed through a few miles back.<p>

Brittany flipped the indicator on, pulling in beside one of the gas pumps and turning the engine off.

In the back, Rachel took a deep breath.

"I would like to be the one to perform this hold up, if you would permit me."

Santana had her gun ready, pausing to frown at the girls in the back seat.

"You sure about that?"

Yes, Rachel thought, she was.

"I believe the responsibilities should be shared equally, and so far the three of you have secured supplies at great risk to your lives. And mine, but not to the same extent. So I propose that Brittany accompany me into this establishment while Santana and Quinn ready the car and act as lookouts."

Quinn's frown mirrored Santana's as she opened her mouth to protest.

"Rachel, I think at this point it would be best for the more _experienced_ –"

"Quinn, while I appreciate the sentiment I must point out the flaw in your logic. You were not experienced the first time, and if you do not allow me the chance to attain the same experience than I will _never_ have it. Besides, I feel completely secure having you watching out for me, as I'm sure Brittany does with Santana."

Brittany nodded eagerly, running her thumbs over the backs of Santana's hands.

"San would never let anyone hurt me."

Quinn was touched. Rachel felt safe enough letting her watching out for the diva's back? And not just that, but to compare it to Santana's protectiveness of Brittany?

It was just _weird_, she thought, because she was pretty sure no one had ever trusted her so much before. Hell, at _all_.

"Okay."

"Are you sure about this?" Santana asked the girl next to her, feeling that fucking _grip_ on her heart again. Right now? She wasn't happy.

"Trust me." Brittany replied simply.

Santana waited for the girls to get out of the car before rolling her eyes. If Brittany used that phrase _every_ time she wanted to risk her life, Santana was about three hold ups away from having a stroke.

Quinn filled the car with gas, a pistol tucked into the waistband of her shorts, as Santana kept her eyes on the highway.

They hadn't come up with a signal system. Santana was just going to shoot whoever showed up, if it came to it. She hadn't exactly said this to the others, however.

Quinn got back into the car, watching the opposite side of the highway to the other girl. No more towns, she decided, just highway businesses in the dead of night.

"So, you're getting pretty _cozy_ with the troll." Santana muttered, gun in her lap, eyes flicking between the highway and gas station where she could just make out Brittany moving quickly around the store as Rachel pointed the shotgun at the clerk.

This was _such_ a bad idea, that gun was almost as long as the midget was high. Who'd be afraid of her? Santana should be in there. It was just, like, logic. She was the _baddest_ of their asses, and after the midget got her rocks off here, that would be _it_ – she would be the one in there waving a piece around and spouting threats because, firstly, she was _awesome_ at them, and secondly, sitting out here waiting was giving her serious chest pains.

"Santana –" Quinn sighed, because now was _not_ the time.

"I'm just saying, Q, I mean, I don't _blame_ you. I'd be latching myself onto the only available body if Britts weren't here." Santana shrugged, biting back a smirk as she heard the girl in the back blow out a frustrated breath.

"It isn't _like_ that. We're friends, its not a big deal."

"Oh, I beg to differ on that score. I seem to remember an _entire_ summer spent bitching about the troll. What did you call her, Q? A complete waste of fucking space? Seems you aren't wasting any _fucking_ space now."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "I think the repeated orgasms have done something to your brain, S. Don't talk about what you don't know."

"Don't I?" Santana shrugged easily, watching the girl's reaction in the side mirror, eyes flickering back and forth to the highway.

"_No_, you _don't_. Not _everyone_ fucks their best friend." Quinn winced as the words fell from her lips.

Santana smirked triumphantly.

"So you're _best_ friends now?"

"I – we – look, it's not like there's anyone else around. Especially since you and Brittany _disappear_ every time we stop the car."

Quinn was happy for them, she actually was. But she couldn't deny that the summer spent with the three of them together – as equally close to each other as they'd ever been – had been a happy time for her. She'd felt included. And she still did, but to a _much_ lesser extent.

Santana eyed the gas station, wondering what was taking them such a long time. Rachel now had the shotgun pointed at the _floor_ and was laughing at something the clerk was saying. What the fuck?

"Hold up, what is she even doing?"

Quinn was biting her lip, feeling strangely defensive of her newfound friendship. A hot feeling seemed to melt over her when she saw the object of her thoughts – was she _flirting_? – laughing at the clerk in the store.

"Maybe," she began slowly. "It's some kind of tactical thing?"

"What, rob someone with _kindness_?" Santana scoffed, jaw dropping slightly as Brittany came into view, gesturing and laughing at the clerk too.

"I'm not sure it was a _good_ idea to let them pair up, on second thought." Because now it looked like _both_ of them were flirting – grinning, playing with their hair, appearing flattered by something.

Santana growled.

"I'm going in there."

Quinn almost stopped her, but then Rachel stepped toward the counter and wrote something down that looked like – but that didn't even make _sense_. They had left their phones in Lima, Rachel wasn't even gay and that clerk was _definitely_ a woman, and –

And why the _hell_ was Rachel giving out her phone number?

* * *

><p>"I can have the shotgun if you want?" Brittany had the third pistol in her pocket, her hands freed up and wearing a back-pack so she could grab as much food and things they needed. Since Rachel was vegan she figured she had to be the one to get food if they wanted it to taste any good or be fun.<p>

"I admit it's a little heavier than I anticipated," Rachel said, hefting it up to shoulder level as Brittany opened the door for her. "But I can do this."

She wouldn't be shooting anyone – she didn't even know _how_ to – and she hoped her smile was _as_ disarming as the threatening weapon in her hands.

She would've preferred to do away with the thing entirely, but she was certain that the other girls wouldn't let her leave the car if she refused to arm herself. Besides, guns were awful, yes, but the responsibility of that awfulness was not on the weapon, it was on the person wielding it.

"Firstly, I apologize for what I am about to do, however you must understand that we are running out of food and are doing this out of necessity," Rachel began, stepping closer to the counter as Brittany left her side to begin filling the bag she'd brought. "I ask simply that you allow us to be on our way without harm, and we will extend to you the same courtesy."

Rachel aimed the shotgun at the girl behind the counter – with brightly colored pink hair and a nose ring – smiling as kindly as she could.

The girl just looked at her with her mouth open.

"Please raise your hands so I can be assured that you comply with my request."

The girl raised them quickly, though they first went to her mouth.

"It's _you_!" She gasped, hands flying into the air as a grin split her features. "Oh my _God_, oh my God!"

Well, that gave Rachel a moment's pause. She assumed recognition would be coupled with fear, or anger, or even disgust. But this? Perhaps the girl had seen her perform once rather than recognize her role in murdering people?

"I – yes it's me – _who_ do you think I am?" Rachel stepped a little closer, glancing at the car outside and seeing two faces staring back at her.

"Faberrittana!" The girl exclaimed, and Rachel's eyebrows shot up.

Well, she shouldn't feel _too_ disappointed since they were on the run for rather unsavory deeds. But for a moment, the sense of adoration from this stranger tapped directly into the life she had left behind.

"You have me mistaken for someone else, I'm afraid." Rachel sighed; glancing back at Brittany and noting the girl was squinting at labels and shoving fistfuls of chocolate and candy into the bag. "Brittany, please make sure to grab _actual_ food along with the sugar based products you prefer."

"Holy shit! It's really you guys! Fuck! I am, like, your _biggest_ fan!"

Rachel frowned, wondering what this strange girl was going on about.

"I'm not sure who you think we are but – is Fabersomething or whatever it was, is it some sort of music group?"

The pink haired girl scrunched her face up slightly before her expression cleared.

"You don't even _know_ do you?"

By this time Brittany had started paying attention to the conversation since it was so different from the one Santana had with the clerk she'd pointed a gun at. Where was the yelling?

"Know?" Rachel took another gentle step forward, vigilantly keeping the gun raised.

The pink haired girl kept grinning, seeming to almost be vibrating in excitement.

"Holy shit, man, you don't even _know_ about – I _worship _you guys! We all do! Triple F, man!"

Rachel was starting to wonder if the girl was mentally disturbed in some way. Surely _anyone_ pointing a shotgun at your face – smiling or not – was enough to cause one to panic rather than seem so, well, excited. The girl was talking complete gibberish.

"I – I see. Well, we'll just take what we need and leave you to – to your Triple F business that –"

"_You_ are Faberittana! Fabray, Berry, Brittany, Santana! Faberrittana!"

Rachel let the gun fall just slightly because, what?

"Pardon? I don't –"

"Dude, you guys have a fucking fan club and I'm in it! And now you're holding me up! This is too much, this is – everyone is going to be _so_ jealous!"

Slowly, it began to make sense in Rachel's mind. The gun dropped completely as her arms went weak with laughter.

"You can't be serious?" She started, beaming when the pink haired girl shook her head quickly.

"Come on, you _had_ to know, it's all over the news! And the Internet! And –" the girl paused, gasping. "And you guys don't even _know_."

Brittany stood from her crouched position in front of the drinks fridge, walking slowly toward the counter.

"We have fans?"

"That's impossible, we're committing completely _detestable_ acts and –" but Rachel was still grinning, because she'd never met a fan before. Sure, she'd planned for a future absolutely filled with them, but that was when she thought it would be her _voice_ they were adoring.

"You guys are sticking it to the _man_, it's _awesome_! You're like lesbian crusaders!"

Brittany laughed in delight as Rachel frowned a little.

"I'm not a lesbian –" she started.

"There are _hundreds _of us fighting for your cause! Triple F! Faberrittana Freedom Fighters! Fucking a! Can I have your autograph?"

Well, Rachel thought, here it was. Her first autograph. The moment she had been waiting for since she was born. If they thought she was gay, well, so be it. Gay or straight, what did it matter? She was adored!

She stepped towards the counter, letting the gun fall loosely, and picked up the pen that lay next to cash register and a loose receipt. She turned it over, trying to decide what her first autograph should say. Of course, she'd had this moment planned for years, but back then it went, 'Thank you for your support and recognition of my talent. Your Gold Star, Rachel Berry' which, well, wasn't exactly _appropriate_ now.

"It's so nice to have someone like us for a change," Brittany said happily, gesturing for the girl to drop her hands. "And just be _so_ nice in general! What's your name?"

"Cherry, my name's Cherry, and I can't believe you're _Brittany_!"

Brittany blinked. "Your name is totally my favorite flavor."

Rachel settled on, 'Thank you for your support and recognition of my plight. Your Gold Star, and friend, Rachel'. She nodded to herself as she slid the paper across the counter, Cherry picking it up and holding it to her chest.

"Can I have yours, too?" She asked Brittany, who nodded happily and stepped toward the counter.

"What the _fuck_ is going on here? Put your fucking hands in the air, bitch! Get away from my girlfriend!" Santana stormed towards the counter with a pistol raised as Cherry looked like she was about to pass out from excitement.

"Santana Lopez," she whispered reverently.

"Did you not _hear_ me you pink haired freak, put your fucking hands _up_! Brittany, Troll Doll, step _away_ from the fucking counter and let me handle this. I swear to _God_, this is a fucking –"

Cherry's hands flew into the air, as Rachel and Brittany started talking at once.

"San, don't, she's nice!"

"Santana she's a fan of ours!"

Santana glared at the girl, then frowned slightly as she glanced between them all.

"_What_? Just get in the –"

"You're my favorite!" The girl stuttered, her chest heaving and eyes wide. "I love you."

Santana squinted, mind scrambling to identify what the good goddamned _fuck_ was happening right now. Last time? Bitch had a pulled a shotgun, and the time before that, the dude had been so scared he'd nearly wet himself. What even _was_ this?

"Someone explain this to me. Now." Santana started, before holding up a finger, gun still pointed at the clerk. "Scratch that – Berry, you be quiet – Britts, what is up with this chick?"

Brittany smiled, excited for Santana to find out the _awesome_ news, too.

"San, we have a fan club, and this girl is in it. They call themselves Triple F, and they think lesbians are _awesome_."

Santana blinked.

"I'm your biggest fan." Cherry whispered, eyes glued to Santana's body.

Well, that actually made sense, Santana thought, suddenly smug. She recognized a look of appreciation when she saw it, and like, _obviously_ she was the favorite. She was fucking _badass_ and _awesome_.

She shrugged, smirking, and let the gun fall to her side.

"So we can just take whatever we want, right?" Santana gestured for Rachel to go over to shelf duty, which the shorter girl did without too much protestation. Santana was the _favorite_? Well, that was just _rude_. Sure, she could appreciate that in the gun wielding lesbian department Santana naturally had the upper hand, but – she had to figure out some way she could showcase _her_ natural performance talents to this apparent fan club. She was born to be the favorite.

Brittany signed her name next to Rachel's on the piece of paper, reaching over and grabbing some bags before winking at Cherry and murmuring, "She's _my _favorite too!" before moving to join the shorter girl in getting the rest of their supplies.

"You can have _anything_," Cherry replied, licking her lips slightly and giving Santana a pointed look.

Santana ran her tongue over her teeth, appraising the girl in front of her.

"Well, I can't say I ain't flattered. You're pretty hot, but," she leaned against the counter, admiring the gun in her hands, feeling the pink haired girl's eyes all over her. "Britts over there? Honey, I'm sorry, but there ain't no competition."

But Cherry seemed even more excited by that.

Rachel left the store at that moment, arms laden with the shotgun and as many bags as she could carry, while Brittany stayed behind to finish up.

"I knew you two were together, I knew it. I've like, studied the videos on youtube, and the interviews and – like, if Rachel and Quinn are totally in love, than of _course_ you and Brittany are," Cherry breathed, smiling, as Santana started frowning. "It's like, lesbian Thelma and Louise squared, you know?"

"Wait, Rachel and – _what_?"

Cherry just nodded, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"I mean, all the interviews say they hated each other and then killed her parents and ran off. Her parents were totally religious, right? Plus she had that baby, and like, statistically there are a _lot_ of lesbian teenage pregnancies," Cherry licked her lips again, unable to believe that _Santana Lopez_ was standing so close to her. "So why else would Rachel get involved if her and Quinn weren't in a secret lesbian relationship that her parents disapproved of? So they killed them, and ran off with their totally out lesbian friends." Cherry shrugged as Santana opened and closed her mouth a few times.

"And _that's_ what everyone believes?"

"Well, not _everyone_. But those of us who pay attention? It makes _sense_, man. And now you guys are here and I'm going to tell _everyone_ that it's confirmed, it's fucking confirmed!"

Santana couldn't help it, she burst into laughter. Oh _this_ was just the best thing she had ever _heard_. Jesus, she now had a fucking nuclear _bomb_ worth of jokes for Quinn. She would've squealed if it was something she even did.

This was fucking _precious_.

"And all this is happening on the Internet?"

"Can I, uh, put my hands down? I've got my iPad, I can _show_ you!"

Santana shrugged, then changed her mind when Brittany left the store with full bags and headed to the car.

"We've got to split, running from the law and all that." She shrugged. "Sorry, but hey, nice meeting you."

Cherry frowned worriedly for a second, as if debating something in her mind.

"Why don't you just take it, my iPad I mean, and see for yourself?"

"That's like, a nice offer and all, but –" Santana was backing slowly away from the counter, glancing at the car, where the other three seemed to be waiting for her.

"I have a car charger too! I'll just say you stole it with all the groceries!"

Santana deliberated for a second. If she had proof then her teasing of Quinn would be, like, so much better.

"Look, I _wish_ I could but we're trying to stay off the radar so –"

"Really? Because there is a _lot_ of footage of you guys."

Santana swore, because what was _wrong_ with her? She'd totally forgotten about shit like security cameras and – she aimed the pistol at the little camera in the roof, depressing the trigger once and trying not to let herself look too shocked when she hit it dead on. Man, playing video games had made her hand-eye coordination off the _hook_.

"Well, _that's_ about to change."

"That camera doesn't record, just so you know. Look, what if – what if I said it got stolen in New York? I'm heading there in a couple of weeks for a Triple F get together and – it's insured and – please let me help you guys!"

Santana sighed. Well, the Internet _was_ something she'd missed.

* * *

><p>"<em>What<em>?" Quinn shouted when Rachel and Brittany filled her in on what had happened in the store. "We have – _what_?"

"Fans! And they're _so_ nice!"

"I know!" Rachel gushed, eyes bright. "Which just goes to prove what I've known all along – my star potential is so bright it doesn't matter _what_ it's for! Though I obviously intent to include my vocal talents in _some_ fashion once I figure out _how_."

Santana jogged back to the car, something shiny and flat in her hands.

"We gots ourselves an iPad!" She said, jumping into the driver's seat and starting up the car. She tossed the car charger to Brittany, who looked at it in slight confusion before reaching for the iPad.

Quinn's head was spinning. Was she still drunk? This could _not_ be real.

"You _stole_ that from her? Santana, that is _deplorable_ after she was so appreciative –"

"No, _troll_, she _gave_ it to us. So we could check out this Triple F thing for ourselves. _God_, I'm her _favorite_, as if I'd be a bitch about it." Santana smirked as Rachel huffed.

"Wait," Quinn said, leaning forward and touching Santana's shoulder so she'd stop the car. She then turned to Rachel. "Did you get earplugs?"

Rachel looked sheepish for a moment, having forgotten about the sex noise issue what with all the excitement of having a fan and giving out her first autograph.

"What do you need them for?" Brittany asked, running her fingers over the iPad screen in delight, gasping when she found the Angry Birds application.

"I'll be back," Quinn replied, getting out of the car and jogging towards the gas station. She took a deep breath before pushing through the door.

Fine, if the others were adamant there was some fan working there then she had to meet them for herself. Who would be a fan of _murderers_?

"Holy shit! Yes!" Cherry said as she saw Quinn walk towards her. "I've met all four of you!"

"Uh, hi," Quinn cautiously watched the girl, noting how her face had lit up and she was beaming at her. "Listen, have you got any earplugs?"

She kept watching as the girl fumbled behind the counter, before lifting a box of them onto the counter.

"Take them all!"

Quinn frowned suspiciously, tentatively lifting the box and beginning to back away.

"Thanks." She murmured just before she left the store, eyeing the girl a final time. "Nice hair."

She couldn't contain the smile as she heard the girl gasp, and jogged back to the car.

"See?" Rachel said happily as Quinn shut the door and the car started moving again.

As far as their hold ups went, it was definitely the smoothest. If only, they each thought in their own way, someone who was on their side tended_ every _gas station.

O-O

"I don't think we should risk it," Quinn said, slowly chewing her mouthful and swallowing as the other girls looked at her.

Santana had reached for the iPad as soon as they'd stopped the car. They'd crossed into Utah, and the Latina had insisted they stop at Flaming Gorge National Recreation Area because the name was just too hilarious to bypass.

Brittany had been disappointed when Santana had taken the iPad off her because she was _so_ close to beating her high score in Angry Birds. She was awesome at that game.

Rachel agreed with Quinn, as usual.

"Quinn is completely correct, we shouldn't be involving ourselves with any technology that can be traced back to us."

Santana rolled her eyes, though. "Exactly _how_ can they trace an iPad they don't even know we _have_?"

"And what makes you so sure that Cherry girl won't rat us out?" Quinn reached for more soup, offering some to the Latina who turned her nose up in disgust.

"Because she _loves_ us, that's why. Plus she said she was going to New York in a couple weeks and would report it stolen then. So we use it now, and then get rid of it. Bam, problem _solved_."

"I miss cheeseburgers." Brittany mumbled, leaning back so she could look at the stars, which were fading with every moment as the sun began to rise.

But, Rachel conceded, Santana had a point.

"What do you even want to look at, S? She told us we have some fans or whatever, so what? You know, _Charles Manson_ had fans too. I won't deny that it's flattering but – but I don't know if this _is_ a good thing."

"I want to know what they're saying, Q, that's all. I want to know what the news is saying, where they think we are, I mean – Q, this is like, a gift or some shit. We find out all the information they have on us, and _use_ it to our advantage." She threw her hands up. "I don't see what the problem is."

"Maybe," Rachel began. "Santana is right, in that we should at least have a _look_. But just one, and then we dispose of it, and we only use what we find to improve our chances of survival."

Quinn shook her head, standing up and dusting her hands against her pants. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a packet of earplugs, walking towards their tent without saying another word.

* * *

><p>"Quinn?" Rachel asked some time later, scooting closer to the girl and peering at her face. Her eyes were shut, but her breathing wasn't deep enough for unconsciousness.<p>

Or at least, that would be her excuse if Quinn was angered by what she was about to do.

She reached towards the blonde's ear, plucking out the earplug as quickly as she could.

Quinn's eyes flew open.

"_What_ are you doing?"

"I just wanted to see if you were all right, Quinn. I apologize if I'm disturbing you in any way."

Quinn rolled onto her back, reaching up to her other ear and plucking the other earplug out of it.

"I couldn't _possibly_ be _more_ disturbed by everything."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Rachel inquired softly, leaning onto her elbow and thankful the other girl was willing to talk. Things between them had changed _so_ drastically it was now impossible to imagine _not_ being friends with her.

"I don't know. It's just a lot to – the past week has been –" Quinn blew out a breath. "Time is running out, that's what I'm feeling. And I don't know what to do about that."

"What do you mean?"

"Rachel, there's nowhere for us to go. Every small town we pass through isn't right, every time I think I see a police car my heart almost _stops_, and this fan thing? I don't _get_ it."

"Perhaps," Rachel said gently. "That's why we should have a look for ourselves, to see _why_ people seem to be supporting us. I know, for certain, that from the outside our actions must appear – we've _killed_ people, and _no one_ but us know the true reason why. Even if they did, it – nothing justifies –"

"I'm tired." Quinn said softly.

"Oh, I can let you sleep –"

"No, Rachel, I'm _tired_. I'm tired of running, and being afraid, and not _knowing_ what we're going to do or where we're going to go. I'm tired of sleeping on the ground and eating fucking canned soup. I'm tired of fighting with Santana, and being constantly _worried_ that you're all going to die because of _me_."

Rachel sighed, fingering the earplug in her hand.

"Do you want us to turn ourselves in?"

Quinn paused, closing her eyes. "No. I just want –" God, why did she have to _cry_ all the time? "I want _none_ of this to have happened, _that's_ what I want."

Rachel nodded, gingerly placing the earplug on the tent floor near Quinn's head, then leant down and very gently placed her head on the other girl's shoulder.

It was the first time they'd been so close without being drunk, or asleep.

"I want to be back in Lima, getting ready for my nightly MySpace recording after a nutritional vegan dinner prepared by my fathers," Rachel's voice was barely above a whisper. "I want to be dreaming of my future on Broadway, and wondering whether Finn will follow me to New York City, or stay behind. I want to be in my room, with my extraordinarily comfortable bed, and have access to my elliptical for the moments where I feel so energized I don't know what else to do with myself."

Quinn listened, imagining the brunette doing everything she was talking about. It hurt to listen to, it _ached_, but she couldn't stop herself.

"Yeah?" She whispered, hoarsely.

"I want to be consumed with our Nationals set list, and how I'll get Mr Shue to listen to my suggestions without disregarding me straight off the bat. I even want Santana to constantly berate my existence, publicly _and_ privately. I want Kurt and Mercedes to challenge me for solos, and for the three of us to set aside our differences, finally, and just sing together. Along with Santana – her voice is _amazing_, though don't tell her I said that."

Quinn chuckled a little. "Yeah."

"But I don't want to be sitting there, watching you out of the corner of my eye and mourning the friendship we _might_ have had if I'd known the real reason for your initial hatred. I don't want to still be wondering whether I will ever have a _best_ friend – someone who will favor my friendship above all others."

Quinn swallowed, feeling Rachel's hair against her neck.

"Oh?"

"I don't want to _know_ that I am going to New York City to fulfill my potential and follow my dreams, while you resign yourself to a bland existence because you think you're nothing more than a pretty face, despite me telling you otherwise." She reached an arm over the blonde's waist. "There are things I want to change, Quinn. Truly. If I could somehow take the best elements out of the life I used to have, and combine it with the best things out of the one we've found ourselves in, it would be _perfect_."

Quinn let the girl cuddle her. God, when had Rachel – _Man-Hands_ – become the best thing about her life?

"It would be," she agreed, her voice thick.

"But I can't do that. I can only face forward – _you_ said that first, remember? And we – perhaps this will end badly. But that ending isn't happening today, Quinn. I don't know what else to say." Rachel stared into the other girl's eyes, imploringly. "I have spent most of my _life_ dreaming of a better future, and using that to get me through a _terrible_ present. And now I find myself doing the opposite; dreaming of a terrible future, and trying to ignore it in the face of my _present_, for once, being somewhere I am actually kind of happy to be."

"Not even with Finn? Or Jesse?" Quinn asked, turning so she was facing the other girl, though reaching an arm out so they were still cuddling each other. Rachel's head moved off Quinn's shoulder, and instead lay on the ground facing her.

"I won't deny that there was happiness with them. Finn was, for the most part, a _wonderful_ boyfriend, and Jesse – well, his adoration and elevation of my sense of self worth were also beneficial for my emotional well-being."

"But?" Quinn supplied, hoping there _was_ one.

"I can't explain it, but it wasn't like what I feel now. Despite their presence, having someone love me didn't solve all of my problems as I fantasized that it would. I still didn't have any friends, and while the moments with Finn were _beautiful_ and _moving_ – well, _most _of them – there was still no one to tell, or talk to about them. I couldn't – you all pointed out that he appeared _dick_ like at times – but how was I supposed to _know_ that his behavior was anything other than normal? It wasn't like there was anyone to tell me."

Quinn reached her hand up, caressing Rachel's cheek as the smaller girl gave her a watery smile.

"I thought if someone loved me it would make everything – easier, I guess – too. Sam was, God, such a nice guy. And what did I do? I broke his heart. And Finn? I broke his heart too. You know, Puck told me loved me after Beth was born."

Rachel's eyebrows shot up. "Really?"

"But I couldn't say it back. I – I just never – I thought that if someone loved me that would solve everything. But really, it doesn't, not if you don't love them too. Not that this even matters, anymore."

But Rachel shook her head, reaching out to caress Quinn's face in the same manner the blonde was caressing hers.

"Everything matters," she whispered. "Even when it seems like there's no hope and it's all gone to – gone to shit – _everything_ matters."

* * *

><p>"Oh. My. <em>God<em>." Santana said gleefully, eyes trained on the iPad's screen as Brittany stretched before entering the tent to lay beside her.

"What you looking at, San?"

"Oh, _nothing_. Just a little story written by someone featuring our friends in the next tent."

"A story?" Brittany _loved_ stories. She propped herself up on one elbow, looking at the other girl with interest. "Read it to me!"

Santana cleared her throat, unable to stop the smirk from creeping over her face. She kept her voice slightly hushed, however, since she could hear murmurings from the other tent and didn't want _them_ to know she'd ignored Rachel's request to leave the iPad issue to the following night and gone online already.

"It's called, 'Can't Fight This Feeling' and it's written by a fan of ours. You ready, Britts?"

Brittany nodded, making herself extra comfortable. "Ready, San!"

"_Once upon a time in Lima, Ohio, lived two girls with a deep, burning passion for each other. One was blonde, and one was brunette, and though their love was true and right, the town they lived in didn't support homosexuality and so cursed the blonde girl. Every full moon, instead of getting her period, she grew a penis,_"

Brittany gasped. "No!"

"Just wait, Britts, I'm not even at the _best_ part yet." She cleared her throat again. "_Fearing that the love of her life would reject her, she hid her deformity in the hopes that no one would find out. But one night, as the object of her desire lounged on her bed doing homework, she found herself so aroused she couldn't contain her erection. "Rachel?" She said, moving closer to the other girl. "Yes Quinn?" the short brunette replied, eyeing the bulge in her crotch –_"

"No way!" Brittany squealed, unable to contain her laughter.

"Yes way!" Santana laughed in return. "I can't _wait_ until Q sees this!"

She moved to put the iPad down, but her action caused a deep frown to cross her ladylove's face.

"But I want to hear what happens next," Brittany pouted. "Will Rachel reject Quinn because she has a dick?"

Santana blinked for a few moments, wondering if things were about to get super awkward.

Nah, she decided, this shit was too funny. And if it made Brittany hot? Well, all the more sex for her.

O-O

Quinn's grip on the steering wheel just kept getting tighter, and _tighter_.

"Oh, and here's one that has Quinn being adopted by Rachel's gay dads and, despite being brought up as _sisters_, still totally end up banging."

Santana was having a field day. The girls in the front were silent as she went through the list of stories she'd found, while Brittany sat next to her and offered feedback on each summary.

"That one would be especially hot."

"Santana, stop it." Quinn bit out, unable to look at Rachel.

"What's wrong, Q? Is this hitting a little too close to _homo_?" Santana snickered as Rachel looked at Quinn cautiously.

"I think we've had enough of the – the stories of – I think we should _only_ focus on the _news_ items –"

But that made Brittany's face fall.

"The news items are _sad_."

And it was true. They'd started the morning off scrolling through online newspapers and youtube – at first mortified that Coach Sylvester seemed to be riding into her own weird brand of stardom, and then just shrugging the whole thing off because it wasn't the _weirdest_ thing Coach had done – before heading to the Triple F boards to find out _what_ they were supporting, and how many of them there were.

Santana had immediately deflected them to the stories she'd bookmarked the night before, most of which had Quinn and Rachel involved in some kind of lesbian murder tryst.

Rachel had thought the whole thing very odd, and was willing to laugh it off, until Quinn shrunk away from what she'd thought was a friendly, comforting shoulder squeeze.

Now the blonde wouldn't look at her.

"And now we reach, what I like to call, the Quinn Is A Tranny Chronicles." Santana snorted, winking at Brittany. "Just so you know, Q? Your dick is like, _massive_, and hey, there's even a story in here somewhere that has all _three_ of us riding you like a wild stallion into the sunset."

Brittany clapped. "I love that one!"

Quinn pulled the car over, jerking the steering wheel to the right so hard that everyone was flung sideways.

She wrenched her door open, turning quickly and opening Brittany's door as the girl squeaked in shock. Reaching over the other blonde, she ripped the iPad from Santana's hands and stormed away from the car, crossing the highway, and doing her best to fling it as far as she could.

She took deep, shuddering breaths, trying to calm herself down.

Okay, so people out there had taken certain _liberties_ with the reasons behind killing her parents and fleeing Lima. Some had even gotten the roadhouse bit right – those that addressed the crime had the rapist attacking Rachel in some way – except they also had Quinn brandishing the knife and saving her in the name of _love_.

It was mind-boggling.

And frustrating.

And wasn't it _enough_ that her life was completely ruined, but now people were out there lying and saying – saying she was romantically involved with a _girl_ – Rachel Berry wasn't even a lesbian, and even if she were, there was no way Quinn would – the thoughts she _might_ have let creep into her mind were the byproduct of alcohol and –

This just made her so _angry_.

She walked back to the car, unable to look at anyone.

"Quinn? Are you okay?" Rachel asked, concern written all over her face, as she attempted once again to instigate the natural level of physical intimacy they'd found in the last week.

Quinn shrugged her off, frowning at everything and didn't bother answering. All these _emotions_ and fucking _talking_ and _cuddling_? She'd blame it on the alcohol, on the isolation, and _especially_ on the circus she now called her life.

Santana had her arms crossed, glaring at the back of Quinn's head.

"You are a _bitch_, Fabray. And you _will_ be stopping at the next diner you see because Britts and I? We're going to get our cheeseburgers on, and since you just fucking _threw_ away the only item that took my mind off how _fucked_ things are? You _best_ be stopping if you know what's good for you."

* * *

><p>It was the middle of Utah, at the base of a cliff, in such a remote part of the state they hadn't seen any towns or lights for miles. The diner looked homely, and welcoming.<p>

Hell, Quinn could use a cheeseburger too, with extra bacon and a side of fries. But her stomach was still twisted in knots from what Santana had read out to her earlier.

"Quinn?" Rachel asked timidly, afraid that the other girl had shut her out completely.

"What?" Quinn kept her eyes on the diner, hoping against hope that despite taking a pistol inside, the girls wouldn't have to use it.

"Are we okay?"

"Fine."

Rachel wished she had even _half_ an idea what to do in this situation. Why was the blonde so upset?

"It's not – those stories were completely preposterous, you have to know that – Quinn, _I_ didn't write them, please don't be angry with me."

She couldn't stay in the car, and fuck it. She _did_ want a cheeseburger after all.

She left Rachel sitting out there by herself, and didn't look back once.

* * *

><p>"I think the Texas Chilli Cheeseburger was <em>made<em> for my mouth," Santana eyed the menu board, her arms around Brittany as the girl deliberated over what she wanted to get.

"I'm going to go with the – um, either the Triple Bacon Slammer or Monster Burger. I can't decide."

Well, that was easily fixed. Santana kissed Brittany's cheek, before directing her attention to the woman behind the cash register who was looking at them suspiciously.

"We'll take a Texas, a Slammer, and a Monster. The _largest_ fries you got – make that two – and two cherry cokes."

The woman punched the items in slowly, starting to scowl. Santana handed cash over, wondering what the woman's deal was since she mustn't recognize them or else everyone in there would be panicking.

Right?

"I'm _so_ excited to eat!" Brittany said happily, leaning back into Santana's body and giggling as warm breath enveloped her ear.

"I'm so excited to eat _you_ later tonight."

"You're _so_ bad!"

It was at that point that a woman stood up across the room – she'd been sitting in one of the booths, minding her own business – and pointed at them.

"Sinners!"

It wasn't _entirely_ unexpected, though Santana still felt a chill run down her back.

"Yes, _thank_ you. We are." She scoffed at the woman, rolling her eyes and hoping their order wouldn't take too long to go up.

"You'll go to hell for what you've done! Fornicators! Deviants!" The woman continued, and really, what the _hell_ was her problem?

"Oh, _really_? Gee, and here I thought murderers were offered a one-way trip into _heaven_. Sit down you old _hag_, and leave us alone."

Brittany chewed her bottom lip nervously. She just wanted to get her burgers, and go, and this weird lady was slowly creeping towards them with her hand outstretched and eyes wide.

"I smite thee! Demons! Your souls will _burn_ for what you have done!"

Okay, so now Santana was creeped the fuck out because, firstly, sure the hag was a religious nutjob. But the look in her eyes, the way she didn't even seem to _blink_ as she got closer to them – her dress was _filthy_; her teeth chipped and cracked – was almost enough to make her run the fuck out of the diner and leave the burgers behind.

"Lady, seriously. Just _stop_. Brittany? Ignore her."

But Brittany couldn't, because this woman was like something out of a nightmare she'd once had. Spittle was flying from her lips, and she wasn't even wearing _shoes_.

"San?" She whispered fearfully, and that was enough to spur Santana into action. She whipped the gun out from behind her back, and aimed it at the approaching woman.

"Stay _back_ I said. Leave us _alone_. Okay? Or I'll fill you with so many bullets –"

"It might be best if you girls leave." The woman behind the cash register pursed her lips at them, and Santana swung the gun to point at her.

"Really? We're _paying_ customers and you're going to take the side of this _crazy_ bitch? Not to mention I have a _gun_ in your face!"

The woman was still getting closer, and while she really didn't want to pull the trigger, she was _this_ close to doing just that.

"If she says you're deviants, then you're deviants. You come in here and flaunt your business in our faces, and then pull out a weapon? I'll give you your money back, and you girls just _go_."

It was an out she should've taken, but she couldn't help that she felt stung by this woman's dismissal. Hell, she didn't even think they _knew_ they were wanted for murder – this was like a hate crime, like they were referring to –

"Wow, so _she's_ a crazy bitch and _you're_ a homophobic asshole?"

A patron towards the back – a man – stood up then, and flung his arm in their direction angrily.

"You heard them, get _out_!"

"Order up!"

_Finally_, she thought. This stupid depressing exercise in redneckville could end.

"Just give us the damn burgers and let us leave."

For some reason, one she'd never figure out, the woman instead opened the cash register and flung a twenty-dollar bill in their direction. It fluttered to the floor, and as Brittany dutifully bent down to pick it up, she decided, _fuck these people_.

The first three bullets went into the crazy old lady; the next two into the woman behind the cash register.

She aimed the gun at the man at the back, and depressed the trigger, frowning when there were only empty clicks.

Her five bullets were out.

"Britts, did you bring your gun?"

Brittany shook her head, gazing fearfully at the door as the man advanced toward them, a second rising from another booth to join him.

"Call an ambulance! And the cops!" The second man called to the cook, who exited the kitchen carrying a revolver and looking bewildered at the two bodies now bleeding all over the floor.

"Shirley?" He cried, lifting the gun to point at Santana. "You murdering fucking –"

Four shots rang out from behind Santana, and the cook fell to the floor as blood exploded from his chest. Six more rounds were fired, and the remaining men fell where they stood.

Brittany and Santana turned around, and there was Quinn holding up one of the other pistols. Her chest was heaving, and the anger that had been on her face when they left the car was gone.

"Q, you –"

"This is how it's going to be, isn't it?" Quinn said, voice breaking. "Everywhere we go, people are going to end up dead."

Santana and Brittany remained frozen to the spot, as Quinn stood in the doorway with nothing but the dark sky behind her.

She spun on her heel, letting the door fall shut.

Santana turned her face back to Brittany's, reaching for her as the girl fell into her arms.

They kissed slowly; in relief, shock and purely to comfort one another.

"We have to get out of here," Santana whispered, pulling back from Brittany and tugging her towards the door.

"Wait!" Brittany let go of Santana's hand, vaulted over the counter, and grabbed their bag of burgers. When Santana frowned, she just shrugged sadly. "If we don't take this? Everyone just died for no reason."

Outside, Quinn strode toward the car with the gun by her side. She hadn't expected to go in and hear gunfire, or shoot _three_ people. Hell, she'd only had the gun in her pocket as a precaution since she wasn't willing to go _anywhere_ without it these days.

Rachel met her halfway, worry written all over her face and carrying the third pistol. She gripped it with both hands firmly, though the rest of her body was trembling uncontrollably. The moment she'd heard the gunshots, her stomach had dropped so violently she'd thought she was going to be sick.

"What happened?" Rachel was so relieved to see Quinn still _alive_ she almost fainted.

Quinn didn't answer her, completely overwhelmed by – where did she even _start_? The list was getting longer every single _day_. Not only with the _increasing_ list of crimes, and murders, but with Rachel, and their fan club and – she wasn't an only child, but she might as well have been, and since her life had _exploded_ into ridiculousness she hadn't had a moment to herself to process any of it.

And slowly she was coming to the conclusion that they had _nowhere_ they could go. They would just drive around until they either died, or got caught, and either way it meant there was _so much_ of her life that would go unlived. Experiences she _should've_ had; moments she _could've _had; dreams and hopes and fucking desires she _would've_ had.

Now all she could think about was what she _did_ have.

So she stuffed the gun into her pocket, grabbed the frightened brunette by the shoulders, and kissed that _ridiculous_ mouth as hard as she could.

If this was her last chance to _do_ something for the sake of her own happiness, so be it.

And if the world ended tomorrow, she would have no regrets.

At least when it came to Rachel.


	7. Part 4a

**Part Four – The Whole World Is Coming To An End**

The _Sue's Corner_ theme plays. When the title is stamped onto the screen there is a sub-heading beneath it that reads, _'The Road To Victory'_.

Shot of the William McKinley High School choir room, where Sue is seated in an armchair at the bottom of the risers. She is stern faced, looking at the camera.

On the risers sit eight teenagers – some looking nervous whiles others smile at the camera in delight – and a man with curly hair wearing a vest.

"Good evening, America, and welcome to _Sue's Corner: The Road To Victory_ edition. I'll be taking you on a tour of the same sites four teenage girls made a nuisance of themselves in over the past month. However, before I leave Lima, Ohio – the town that birthed these ridiculous events that, however tragic, has lead to the syndication of the very show you are watching – I bring you the William McKinley High School Glee Club. Now, if you're sitting at home thinking, hey Sue, we love your show and watch it with more religious fervor than we attend Sunday church sermons, what are these un-photogenic children doing in your glorious presence? Well, viewers, I ask myself the same question."

The vested man shakes his head.

"Sue, just get on with the interview. The kids and I –"

"I'm sorry, William, I seem to be confused. Is this _Will's Corner_? _No._ And further to that, I retract my apology and statement of confusion and redirect it to you."

Sue turns back towards the camera with a pained smile.

"Now, where was I? Oh, that's right, in a room with a group of miscreants that make me want to arm myself with a time machine, a knitting needle, and like a terminator of justice, locate their pregnant mothers before they can be born. Before you pity my current circumstance too much, viewer, let me just say this; these kids were the club-mates of the hooligans out there currently making you quiver in fear – or arousal, if you're one of those Triple F'ers – in your homes. Could one of these children spring a gun at any moment and demand your hard earned income and a fan club?"

Sue shrugs.

"That's what I'm here to find out. First question goes to Teen Dad – when you carelessly knocked up my Head Cheerleader and ruined over a years worth of my hard work, did you think for any moment in that ridiculous mohawked head of yours that your thirty seconds of amorous bliss could one day lead her to murder and a life of crime?"

The boy with a mohawk looks blankly at the camera.

"Huh?"

Sue nods sagely.

"Just as I thought. Next question goes to Wheels – who do you pray to at night when you offer thanks for the fact that, if these events had transpired a year ago, you'd have bullet holes in place of eyeballs right now?"

The boy in the wheelchair looks at the other students on the risers in alarm.

"I never thought about – Oh my God, what if they come back here and – Santana has a _gun_ now –"

Sue, for the first time since the opening credits, smiles.

"Now I'm going to pick on someone at random."

She surveys the students, before pointing at a boy with triangular eyebrows and dark hair.

"Next goes to you, Warbler – and just to clarify, I've been lead to believe that's your real name, and don't care to be educated otherwise, as I cannot _imagine_ a more suitable, ridiculously fruity surname for a boy with those eyebrows. Hell, by the powers invested in me by my ever growing audience, I hereby officially dub thee The Warbler – I've been wondering for a while now, and since this is my last cameo at this school and, really, good luck getting _anything_ done without me – I just have to ask: how many Beluga whales die each year _just_ so you can gel that mess on your head you call hair? Someone alert Hayden Panettiere and her group of whale lovers; this kid and Will Shuester combined are wreaking havoc on aquatic ecosystems with their blatant misplaced vanity."

The boy's jaw drops, before he squints his eyes and appears to grow angry.

"How _dare_ you not only insult myself and a man who used to be a colleague of yours – and who remains a _respected_ man at this school – on national television, but do so under the guise of concern over a tragic –"

Sue holds up her hand, and though the boy's mouth continues to move, there is no longer sound.

"That's better. I've been waiting to shut that kid up since I first saw his ridiculous face. Now, let's see what –"

"Sue! _Enough_!"

The vested man stands.

"I'm done with this, and I'm done with _you_! You came here proclaiming to want to _help_ the situation and – like a _fool _– I continue to give you the benefit of the doubt. Well that is _enough –_"

Sue waves her hand again, and the man's voice cuts out.

"I couldn't agree with you more, William. Next question goes to Porcelain – tell me, and the nation, _why_ exactly you said, on _national_ television, that you expected those girls to kill people?"

By this point, half of the club has risen to its feet, ready to follow the vested man who has just stormed out of shot. The only person who doesn't sit back down is the Warbler boy, who walks off the risers shaking his head.

The boy who had been seated next to him looks worriedly between his retreating figure and the camera.

"Well – I – Blaine are you – well it's complicated but – Blaine!"

Sue frowns.

"You've got four seconds to answer the question Celine, or I'm moving on."

He takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders.

"The reason, _Sue_, is because Rachel Berry was known for her, how can I put this, _determination_, and both Santana and Quinn were under _your_ guidance. Since you no longer work at this school, and thus have no jurisdiction over my future or day-to-day life anymore, I can say without fear of repercussion that you are _out of control_. Of _course_ girls under your influence would commit murder. I'm surprised they didn't start _here_ and, frankly, disappointed it wasn't with _you._"

Sue looks squarely at the defiant boy, who flips his fringe at her and then stands. He turns toward a very tall boy in the back row.

"Good luck with her, Finn, you have my sympathies. I hope you find Rachel, I really do."

He turns back around, quirks his eyebrow at the camera, and then walks off without another word.

"Amen!"

A heavyset girl stands and follows him. Four more of the kids do the same – the boy with the mohawk, a goth looking girl, and a tall thin boy in a football jacket who helps push the wheelchair bound boy out of the shot.

One student is left on the risers.

Sue turns back to the camera.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this interview is over, and I am leaving William McKinley High School _forever_. Lurch, since you're with me now – go get me a protein shake, say goodbye to your mother, and meet me at the Fabrays at six in the ay em sharp."

The final student – Finn Hudson – looks deeply troubled as he stares in the direction the Glee Club had left in. He looks back at Sue, cheeks flushing, as he seems to struggle to hold in his anger. He just sighs, though, and nods his head.

O-O

Sue stands next to an elderly woman, both in front of a large house with police tape around its perimeter.

"Edna Bellfries, you saw the girls leave the property behind us that fateful afternoon, didn't you?"

"Yes, my word I did. They was driving so fast I rushed right to my telephone to tell the police. Oh, and the yelling and screaming that came out of that house – I thought my hearing aid was acting up, I did. You don't expect bad things to happen in a street like this – not in all my years living here have I heard such a ruckus!"

Sue nods her head.

"Did you see the girls at all, Edna?"

"No, I did not. Just caught a glimpse of the little one – she was driving – as that gold car done flew right by my house. Such a shame it was to lose Judy from the neighborhood."

"Thank you, Edna."

The elderly woman smiles brightly, lightly grasping Sue's elbow.

"Anything for you, dear. I watch your show every day!"

Sue gives the woman a cocky grin, before turning it to the camera.

O-O

Sue now stands in front of a roadhouse, with similar police tape around it. Next to her is a stocky man in a dirty trucker's cap.

"What you can see behind me, viewers, is _Joe Shmoe's_, a truck stop on the outskirts of Beavercreek, Ohio. Just one week after fleeing Lima for murder, the girls came here to kill again. Why did they do it? And furthermore, they were spotted in Illinois _before_ coming here, so why come back to Ohio at _all_? With me is Dennis Jackson, the only surviving witness from the night of the roadhouse murders. Tell us what you saw, Dennis."

"Well, I was inside that there roadhouse getting myself a steak dinner before setting off on a ten hour duty. I parked my truck up, went in and sat down, and not twenty minutes later this tiny thing walks in looking for a telephone. Now, she looked real nervous and fidgety like, and I remember thinking to myself, 'what in Goddamned hell is she planning?' and anyways, she heads to the washroom, and this other feller in there stands up and goes after her. He's a real big guy, right. But heck, I didn't know what was going to happen. For all I knew, she was running away from home and he was her sweetheart. I mean, he was all smiles when he saw her."

Dennis swallows visibly, and Sue nods her head.

"Continue, Dennis."

"Well, there was this God awful screaming all of a sudden. Like, I never heard nothing like it. It were like – like someone in trouble, and then it stopped, and – and then it started again and I swear to God and all the angels that it was like a demon had been let loose. I was about to go back there and – and see if everything were – but this other feller was sitting closer to it, and he got there first. And damned if he didn't come running back around that corner like he'd seen a ghost. And that – that little spit of a girl – comes chasing after him covered in blood and like – like something I only ever saw in a nightmare, ma'am. I swear it. She was possessed by something. I got out of there as quick as I could, went running for my truck. But as soon I was through that doorway there was this other girl – blonde, and real pretty like – I would've stopped if I weren't so scared just to get another look at her – and she was running in there with a bat."

Sue squints her eyes in thought.

"You'd be talking about Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray?"

"I believe so, ma'am. That's what the police told me, anyways. I don't know, though, I'll just never forget the look on that girl's face. Or the blood on her. Or how that pretty blonde looked, marching into that place. I just got away as fast as I could."

Sue turns to the camera.

"On the one hand, a horrifying tale. On the other? Seems I underestimated Rachel Berry after all this time. Pity, I could've used a spirited girl like that on my squad. Lurch, when we find your little girlfriend, remind me to berate her for not trying out to be a flyer. What a waste."

O-O

Sue stands with a middle aged, overweight man in front of a gas station.

"Jacob McDermott, you were the first of the girl's robbery victims. Tell us, in your own words, your experience with armed teenagers?"

"It was actually, uh, a little confusing. They were dressed up like – pardon my French – hookers or something. One of them went flying around my store making a mess of things before calling in this really tall blonde friend of hers from outside, and the other one was like a dominatrix or something. Really demanding. Threatened to shoot me in the ass if I called the cops. That's why I waited a good hour or two before I did."

Sue nods her head, looking proud.

"That's Santana, all right."

O-O

"I'm standing outside the Camp Crook General Store And Repair where the sixth murder victim – Elsa Lafontaine – was shot while on the job. You know viewers, this town boasts a population of sixty-three people, and I couldn't find a damn one of them to interview. But, that doesn't bother me in the slightest. While Lurch partakes in a slushy the size of his torso, I'll simply use this opportunity to bask in the magnificent athleticism that was displayed in this very spot by Brittany Pierce."

Sue closes her eyes, taking a deep breath of fresh air and smiling. She opens them again after a moment, and looks into the camera.

Finn Hudson exits the store in the background with a large slushy in his hands, looking directly at the camera and darting out of shot.

"I have to say – while it isn't true that I taught these girls how to kill, you could say that I conditioned them, at least, to _survive_. Do with that what you will."

O-O

A pink haired girl with a nose ring smiles excitedly next to a scowling Sue Sylvester.

"It was awesome! Rachel came in first and, God, she is _so_ nice. I mean, everyone was all, 'she's a stuck up bitch!' but they were so wrong, she is the _sweetest_ thing. And _man_ Brittany is just, like, so tall and hot! Wait, what am I saying? They're all hot!"

"And they _didn't_ shoot you?"

"Of course not! I told them, 'I'm your number one fan!' And I am, and now I've _met_ them and – okay, Santana? Like, I saw her pictures and was like, damn she's hot. But in person? I could've died. I could've just orgasmed and died right there."

Sue looks appalled.

"You –"

"And they left, right, but then Quinn comes running back in and just – my little brother is one of those Pokémon weirdoes, right? I never _got_ him, until that day. Because, man, I totally collected them all! Faberrittana forever!"

The girl pumps her fist at the camera. Sue lets her microphone fall, stalking off screen looking disgusted.

O-O

Sue stands in front of a diner with police tape around it. Next to her is a young man in a suit, with oiled hair and slight mustache.

"My grandma was shot in there, by those girls. Don't know why they did it, she wouldn't hurt a fly, not at all. Hell, she'd been missing for a few days and we – we thought she'd died anyway, I mean, she just up and disappeared out of her bed one night but we – she died here, with three bullets in her and bare feet."

Sue nods her head.

"This is the scene of the highest number killed so far, your grandmother among them."

"Yes, ma'am. We're still grieving her, but we know she's with the Lord now so – so that's all there is. Those other folks in there are with her, too. I didn't know them at all, but this place out here has always had a good reputation. Some people get nervous when they find it, out in the middle of nowhere, _anything_ could be going on. But they was good people who ran the place, and it's a shame to see them go."

Sue looks solemnly into the camera.

"What do you say to that, Triple F? Actually, never mind. There's nothing you _can_ say."

O-O

Sue stands outside of a different diner, with the words '_Famous Seamus_' in neon above it. A waitress stands next to her.

"Folks, I'm currently outside of Wellington, Kansas at the scene of, perhaps, the most bizarre of the famous four's stops so far. No, no one was killed, and the place wasn't even robbed. Footage, however, has been turned in to police that apparently shows the girls _dancing_ in front of a jukebox inside the establishment behind me. Katie Delaware here claims she served the girls, not recognizing them until after she overheard them calling each other by their given names. Katie?"

"That's right, I did hear them calling each other Quinn, and Santana, and those names ain't so usual around here. Plus, I'd seen the news and I watch your show all the time. It was strange, though, you know? I expected them to come in guns blazing and shooting up the place, but they just walked in and ordered some food and I didn't give them a second glance. They started up the jukebox, too, did some dancing and had everyone having a swell old time. That little one, Rachel, sang along with the music and that girl can sing, I'll say that. And then I recognized them and – and I called the police. They were long gone by then, I mean, but they just really weren't what I was expecting."

"Did you overhear anything else? Specifically, their intended destination?"

"No, I didn't hear anything about where they were going or even where they'd been. They just were – they just ordered their food, like a bunch of normal kids out on the town for the night. They were laughing and – and no one looked twice at them, and if they did, it was only to smile."

Sue raises her eyebrows.

"And you just let them go?"

"No, I – I didn't realize they were, you know, who they are until they left. It just stuck with me, they were all so happy and – and their names were so strange. That's all. When it hit me, I looked at our tapes from the night and – and I called the police."

"Well, Kansas, it's safe to say they aren't in you anymore. Lurch? Start the van. This is the most recent stop, and since there hasn't been another reported yet, they can't have gotten far."

O-O

Another gas station. This time a man in his fifties stands next to Sue, smoking a cigar.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm coming to you from a gas station outside of Beaver, Oklahoma, where the girls were spotted early this morning by gas station owner, Earl McDonahue. Tell me Earl, how is it a man with a fondness for cigars owns and operates a gas station without blowing himself up?"

Earl chuckles.

"You're a spitfire, you are. I watch your show. Stomping all about the place, yelling and screaming for attention. Hooey, girl, you got to get yourself a boyfriend. How long you in town for?"

Earl winks. Sue frowns.

"Tell me what you know about the girls."

"All right, all right. Can't forgive me for trying. Any who, yeah they were through here just last night. Got their gas, paid for it, and left. Nice bunch of girls, they were. Except for that Mexican talking one, she was a right little vixen like you."

Sue seems to be physically restraining herself.

"And did they say where they were headed?"

"Nope, not a damn word. Got some candy, and some booze, and off they went."

"They're _underage_."

"Yep, that's true. You know what else is true? They're wanted for murder. Hell, slap me with a fine if you have to, but better that than a bullet in my ass."

O-O

"Ladies and gentlemen, I come to you tonight live from a _Denny's_ in Silver City, New Mexico. No, the girls didn't stop here. But we have. Why? Well, viewers, it seems Lurch here ate one too many breakfast burritos this morning and, to keep the van free of his bowel stench, we've stopped here for _an hour_ now allowing the four teenagers once on a killing spree to get further away. I say once on a killing spree because, it seems, they've had a change of heart. Paying for goods, dancing in diners? And now to be spotted driving west across Texas and into New Mexico in broad daylight? Frankly, ladies, I'm disappointed."

Sue sighs, putting the hand not holding the microphone on her hip. She looks around her.

She shakes her head helplessly, before turning back to look at the camera. She opens her mouth to say something, though is stopped by Finn Hudson running out of the diner's door. He is waving his hands and yelling.

Sue turns, annoyed.

"What?"

Finn gestures wildly, shouting something incomprehensible. Sue is shaking her head at him, waving her hands.

"Speak English you behemoth! I swear to all that is holy I will smother you in your sleep tonight! You worthless –"

Finn reaches Sue, grabbing her microphone and staring excitedly into the camera.

"They've been caught! I just saw it on the teevee in there! They got them! They've been arrested! They're caught!"

Sue grabs the microphone back, pushing the boy forcefully off screen.

"What are you talking about? They haven't –"

Her face pales as she looks at something off camera.

"You're certain?"

Her expression darkens considerably.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen, it appears you _didn't_ hear it here first. However, Quinn Fabray, Rachel Berry and Brittany Pierce have been arrested tonight on the outskirts of Duncan, Arizona. Santana Lopez has –"

Sue swallows visibly.

"Been shot in unknown circumstances. Police will arrest her once she – if she regains consciousness. I repeat, the girls have been caught. It's over, America. Their reign of terror has ended."

Finn appears on the screen, smiling and looking relieved. His eyes are bright, his cheeks flushed, and he appears to be panting slightly. Sue turns to him, using her microphone to hit him over the head repeatedly.

"You useless excuse for a – I hate you Finn Hudson! And when Sue Sylvester uses the word hate it translates to an _eternal_ _rage of hell fire and destruction! _Don't you run away from me you half giant son of a bitch! _I'll kill you myself_!"

The sound cuts off as Sue chases Finn Hudson off screen. The camera moves to track them as the boy zigzags along the Denny's car park, looking fearfully behind him as Sue gains ground. He trips over his own feet, and Sue leaps onto his back, brandishing the microphone as if it were a baton.

O-O O-O O-O O-O

Brittany gently placed her hand in Santana's, clutching the bag of food in the other. She wasn't really hungry anymore, but if they didn't get food out of it then – then – then why had they even stopped at all, and why had these people died? The old lady had creeped her out, big time. Everyone had just been so angry and she didn't know why. Would probably never know why.

But at least they had what they came for. That was something. It had to be.

When they reached the car, Rachel was sitting in the driver's seat and Quinn was beside her. They weren't talking, though they leaned toward each other slightly.

"Fucking mess," Santana mumbled, getting in the backseat and sighing heavily.

"Let's just go." Quinn murmured her reply, as if afraid to talk too loudly.

Brittany strapped her seatbelt across her chest, because she knew Rachel liked them to be safe.

They drove away from the diner, each lost in their own thoughts.

Santana felt, for the first time, incredibly guilty. Like, sure those people had been narrow-minded assholes, but she'd just shot them like – was that was she was now? Someone who just shot people she didn't like?

God, was that what they _all_ were? She boasted that she liked to keep things real, but for a painful few moments as they drove along a dark Utah highway, a deadweight settled in her stomach because maybe, just maybe, she _hadn't_ been keeping it real in the last few weeks. Sure, she'd pretended everything was fine, and awesome, but –

She turned to look at Brittany's profile – the slope of her forehead, down along the bridge of her nose and settling on those goddamned gorgeous lips – and felt the weight in her abdomen get heavier, and heavier.

The worse shit they did? The worse shit they were in. It was as simple as that.

Brittany was staring out her window, her eyes on the almost full moon suspended in the sky. She'd seen a full moon before, but not one this bright. Sure, everything was still dark, but now she could make out, faintly, cliffs and rocks and trees. It was all bathed in white, and it was the loveliest view she'd ever seen. Even with the dead people they'd just left behind, and the burgers she'd craved going cold in the bag on the seat between her and Santana, there was still loveliness. She decided to concentrate on that, instead of the other stuff. Just for now.

And when Santana reached over to take her hand, and hold it tight, she imagined a great white unicorn sprinting along the car with them, leaping over the trees and the rocks, it's mane flying out behind it. She imagined it so hard she could almost see it, as if the white glow of the moon was somehow a magical light. As if the unicorn had been waiting for the right moment to show itself to her, and her alone.

Quinn wasn't looking at the view, or anyone else's face. She had her head bent on a slight angle, and her gaze fixed firmly on the gun she still held in one hand. It was heavier, all of a sudden, and just so black. She could see parts of its surface shining, reflecting the moon back at her, but all it did was make it seem ugly. This awful little thing she held – had effortlessly raised and pointed and used – had done so much damage. She wanted to demand the car be stopped, and fling the horrible thing as far away from her as possible.

All that stopped her was what she held in the other. Her left hand rested comfortably in Rachel Berry's lap, with the shorter girl's fingers entwined with her own. Rachel ran the pad of her thumb back and forth over the back of Quinn's, not really understanding why she was doing the comforting motion, just knowing that right now she had to.

For Quinn, and the desperation that had been in her eyes when she'd – when they'd kissed and –

And she was doing it for herself, too, because, suddenly, she realized how much she needed it.

O-O

They stopped in Arches National Park, near the Utah border. None of them spoke, other than to softly request assistance with erecting the tents, or to pass food, or to excuse themselves to bed.

Santana kept her head on Brittany's chest, listening to the steady heartbeat and trying to stay in the moment. Her mind kept fast-forwarding to a point where she _wouldn't_ be able to hear it any more, though. Where Brittany was dead, or somewhere she couldn't reach her, and there would be no warm body to hold or lips to kiss or girl to love.

Soon, everything would end. She wasn't stupid. They couldn't keep it up, especially not after the diner because – because that shit just felt wrong. Everything felt wrong.

Except Brittany, and the sound of her heart beating steadily in Santana's ears. It gave her hope, and courage, and all that crap she'd never really believed in before now.

"I don't want to lose you," she whispered, tears forming in her eyes though she tried to blink them away.

"You won't," Brittany replied softly, her hands lifting to tangle in Santana's hair. She ran her fingers through the dark strands, marveling at how nice they looked even though they'd only been able to wash their hair with bottled water and hand soap since leaving the motel, what felt like, so long ago.

"I can't," Santana's voice cracked. She turned her head, burying her face in Brittany's shirt and struggling to breathe without crying.

"You won't," Brittany reiterated, stronger, gently moving one hand town to pull Santana's shoulder until the girl had turned enough that she could see her eyes.

Well, partly. She was trying to hide them since they were red and puffy from crying.

"I'd rather die than –" Santana started, before a sob forced it's way through her throat. "We're going to go to jail and I'll never see you again and – and I'd rather die."

Brittany's chin trembled as she shook her head fervently.

"Don't say that, please don't say that."

"But it's – but it's true –"

Brittany shook her head again.

"No, San, _no_. You have to make me a promise, right now."

Santana closed her eyes, because she didn't want to promise anything. How could she when everything was so damned uncertain and they were going to die or something anyway so –

"No matter what happens, you can't die, San. You can't. Because I'm going to live until I'm at least one hundred and thirty and – and I don't want a single _day_ of that to be without you."

God, this girl was so sweet, it made Santana cry even harder.

"Well you – you will be without – without me because we'll be separated and –"

But Brittany kept shaking her head, waiting until Santana opened her eyes before she spoke again.

"San, you could be on the moon, okay? And I could be at the bottom of the ocean with Spongebob, but I would still be happy because I'd know – I'd know you were still alive somewhere. I can't – even if we do get separated – I can get through anything as long as I know you're out there, San. I need you to promise me that you won't make me ever live without knowing that, even if we're not together."

Brittany had tears leaking out of her eyes, and had begun to sniffle, and it was all Santana could do not to punch _herself_ for upsetting the girl so much.

"Baby, I don't know if I can promise that."

But God, she wanted to. She wanted to be able to say, 'Sure Britts, let's get our forever on,' and be done with it. But they had _guns_ and were wanted by the law_,_ and there was as much chance that they would be arrested as there was that they would die.

"Yes you can. Someone else might break that promise, I know that. But as long as it isn't you who breaks it, that's all I care about. So promise me right now. Please."

It was that last word that did it. It was like a breath more than an audible word, but Santana heard it and was powerless to resist.

Brittany had been the strong one for so long now, even though she knew it didn't look that way. But fuck that, and fuck it forever. It was time she stepped up, and let the love of her life depend on her.

"I promise, Britts. I promise to stay alive every goddamned day for the rest of your life, so you never have to be sad about me. Even if they throw me in – in Azkaban and you in – in some other fucking fictional reality hardcore prison – I will stay alive every single _motherfucking_ day because – because I don't wantyouto _ever_ have to exist in a world without me in it, somewhere, keeping my heart beating until I get back to you."

She lifted up suddenly to press her lips against the blonde's. This romance shit wasn't that bad, after all. Actually, it was kind of inspiring and hey, she was _awesome_ at it.

It was the first day in a while that they didn't end up fucking all over the tent floor. They just kept each other close, kissing until they were too tired to fight sleep any longer.

Even then, though, they didn't let go of each other.

* * *

><p>Rachel remembered the first night she'd shared a tent with Quinn Fabray. At the time, she'd been thrilled simply by the idea of sharing such an intimate space with someone she'd always wanted to be friends with.<p>

And sleeping next to someone was the _most_ intimate thing one could do.

Or so she'd thought.

She currently lay on her sleeping bag – unzipped and stretched across the tent floor – with Quinn's sleeping bag unzipped and acting as their blanket.

The sun had only just risen, and it was Rachel's favorite time of morning. Everything appeared softer than it would in a few hours time, and the allure of an entire day starting made almost anything feel possible.

Lying on her side, facing Quinn, and staring into the girl's eyes was causing her stomach to feel things she'd only read, and dreamt, of. And it wasn't like she'd been led to believe, either.

Perhaps it _was_ butterflies, and perhaps they were from the Jurassic era and had carnivorous intentions. Perhaps, too, they were flying south for the winter because her entire body had become like the champagne fountain her aunt had insisted on having at her absurdly extravagant wedding when she was fourteen. She remembered watching in awe as a waiter had brought out a small ladder, propping it next to what seemed liked hundreds of glasses stacked in a pyramid, delicately extending his arm with the opened champagne bottle and beginning to pour.

The glass at the very top had filled and spilled over; the glasses underneath had done the same. Another impeccably dressed waiter passed up a second bottle to him, and the effervescing cascade had continued on and on, down and down, until each cup was full.

It was beautiful, and it had left her reeling. She would have the same at her own wedding, one day, she promised to herself. She would find her leading man, he would inevitably propose, and soon after she would watch her own fountain fill, cup by cup.

Except, that would never happen now. But, strangely, Quinn's eyes seemed to be pouring into her, overflowing and heading down, every one of her cups running over with – with –

She didn't even know.

She'd looked into those eyes before, and never felt this. Whatever this was. What had changed?

Quinn's hand was on her hip, and their bodies were only barely touching where they lay.

But then the blonde shifted forwards, knees nudging into Rachel's, who naturally let her own fall back and open a little. Quinn lifted herself onto her elbow, the hand on Rachel's hip sliding over her stomach, and heading up very slowly to cup her face.

Rachel was fairly certain the butterflies had led a revolt against her abdomen and were trying to exit her body entirely through her –

Her thoughts were stopped as Quinn's thumb brushed over her cheek, and as she leant towards her, those magical eyes slipped shut at the same moment her lips parted.

She had kissed a _few_ boys in the last three years. From kissing no one, to kissing Finn – who had a surprisingly soft mouth, and stopped his enthusiastic lead-with-the-tongue when she asked him to – and then kissing Puck – who somehow straddled the line between gentle and rough, and had taught her what to do with _her_ tongue – to kissing Jesse – who was passionate, and assured, though less focused on kissing than getting to more amorous activities – to Blaine that fateful, drunken night – his mouth had been tender, as if he used a chap stick on a regular basis – and all had been enjoyable. In fact, other than a few moments of over-enthusiasm with tongues, or hands, she had had no complaints when it came to making out.

But, God, suddenly the bar had been raised.

She wasn't sure if it was because Quinn was a girl, or because of their convoluted past, or simply because she was _Quinn_ but her mouth was – just, God, she couldn't get enough of it.

Rachel lifted her head, pressing her mouth harder into Quinn's, tilting her head and parting her lips further.

Quinn's hand slid through Rachel's hair a little, her fingertips lightly pressing against the back of the girl's head to help keep her in place as she tilted her own.

Rachel let her hands rest on the blonde's back, holding her there gently, but firmly.

It had been fun, before, with Finn and Jesse. It had been thrilling to feel wanted, and when it started to go too far, or her lips had gotten sore, she had always stopped it. More often than not, with Finn, _he_ had stopped simply by –

Well. All of a sudden, she wasn't so sure she could blame him.

Above her, pressing as close as she could, Quinn tried not to allow any thoughts into her head at all.

For the first time, all she wanted to do was _feel_.

O-O

"So." Quinn slowly stirred the small pot filled with vegetable soup. It wasn't at all what she felt like eating, but it was still food. "Maybe we should stay here again tonight."

Santana looked up from the bag she was rummaging through, trying to find clean clothes she could wear. It was one thing to be on the run and killing people, and another to realize she had nothing left to put on that didn't make her feel gross.

"Honestly, Q?" She threw the bag away from her with disgust. "I don't really give a shit."

Quinn lifted a spoonful of soup from the pot, blowing on it lightly before testing the temperature with her mouth.

"Then we'll stay here tonight and set off in the morning."

Santana raised her eyebrows, moving to sit cross-legged and lean back on her hands.

"And drive in the daylight, huh?"

Their eyes met steadily, neither looking away for a few moments.

Santana was vaguely surprised when it was Quinn who backed down first.

"Well, why not?"

Santana had woken that afternoon from a series of nightmares, all involving Brittany. In some, they were running from people or monsters who wouldn't stop chasing them, but as hard as she tried to move her legs, it was like she was trying to run hip deep in mud. They couldn't get anywhere. And in others, Brittany was just crying. Weeping, and sobbing, and every time Santana tried to reach out to her and comfort her, she'd be met with accusing and hateful eyes.

"You know something, Q? I don't know anymore." She turned her eyes to the sky, watching the first stars appear as the sun set completely.

Quinn turned the stovetop off, picking up the pot and pouring its contents into four plastic bowls that had certainly seen better days. They needed to be washed properly, for one. Well, actually, they _all_ needed to be washed properly; their bodies, their clothes, belongings and utensils. Bottled water and hand soap was a make do solution, as were the diaper wipes they'd swiped from the last gas station.

But it wasn't a shower. It wasn't a washing machine, or a sink full of soapy, hot water.

"We could drive during the day, and stay in a motel at night. One with a laundry, maybe." Quinn handed one of the bowls to Santana, taking one for herself and leaving the others for whenever Brittany and Rachel got back.

Santana ate a spoonful of soup, leaning forward and leaving the stars until her meal was finished. She nodded slowly, the weight in her stomach feeling the heaviest it had so far.

"Yeah, we could. Clean underwear would be a freaking Godsend right now."

Quinn smiled slightly, the corner of her mouth quirking at the other girl's words.

"And a shower too, God, can you imagine? Hot water, soap..."

They both sighed as the blonde's voice trailed off.

"So you feel it too, huh?" Santana kept her eyes on her soup, hating the taste of the fucking stuff but stomaching it for the moment, so she had something to do in the heavy silences that seemed to follow whatever she or Quinn would say.

"Yeah. For a while now, I've just tried to ignore it." Quinn chuckled a little, though it was humorless. "Like everything else."

"Time is – it's running out, isn't it?" Santana placed the bowl down, looking at Quinn and waiting for her answer. Hell, she knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it from Quinn, too. Whether it was the leftover Cheerios dynamic slipping through, or the simple fact that she respected the ex-HIBIC, and would always default to her final say in the matter, she didn't know. But she did know that it mattered to her what Quinn thought, because aside from Brittany, she was the best friend she had, and she loved her.

Not that she would ever say as much, but hey, at least she admitted it to herself.

Quinn just nodded, seemingly unable to speak. Santana thought, for just a second, that she'd never seen her so vulnerable.

At that moment, Brittany and Rachel clambered back to the camping spot with damp hair and skin, and empty bottles of water. They were giggling together, and Brittany immediately went to Santana's side and kissed her wetly on the cheek.

"Hi baby!"

Santana tore her eyes from Quinn's, smiling at the glowing girl now seated next to her.

"Hey, so we were thinking of staying here tonight and – and going someplace tomorrow night, like a motel, so we can have _real_ showers."

Brittany looked confused, but happy, and turned to look at Quinn.

"Really? Because hot water would be awesome. The bottled stuff isn't so bad, but sometimes it makes my nipples so hard I think they're going to fall off."

Rachel snorted loudly, as Quinn started choking on the spoonful of soup she'd just eaten. The shorter girl reached a hand out, and patted her back.

"Having just spent a good twenty minutes alone with Brittany, I must say my immunity to her innocent remarks is at an all time high right now. You should've heard what she said when I informed her that, actually, we _wouldn't_ be stripping completely naked and pouring our bottled water over each other in a mutual act of cleanliness."

Rachel blinked when Quinn's eyes nearly bugged out of her head.

Santana's jaw dropped because, well, _shit_. There was a mental image and a half.

"It makes sense though. If Rachel could see my body, she'd know where to pour the water. And then I could pour it on her, and we'd be each other's shower." Brittany shrugged.

"And did –" Santana cleared her throat, since no way was her voice naturally that high. "Is that what you did?"

Rachel smirked, her hand still on Quinn's back, running her fingertips lightly over the material of her shirt. Quinn was struggling to keep her eyebrow from merging with her hairline, because this? This was nice. Really nice. None of her boyfriends had ever been this affectionate with her and it was a nice reversal. Not that Rachel was her _girlfriend_ but, well, she could live with this much physical contact. Possibly even more.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Rachel answered primly, taking her hand away from Quinn to pick up both bowls of soup, reaching forward to hand one to Brittany, who wrinkled her nose at it.

"I wish we still had those burgers," she mumbled, squinting at the soup. She could barely see it now the sun had gone.

As if reading her mind, Santana stood up and walked towards the car, leaning in to turn on the ignition – though not the engine itself – and flipping on the lights.

They all squinted at the light, turning their backs to keep it out of their eyes.

"May I ask why we're planning on going to a motel?" Rachel ate her soup slowly, doing her best to enjoy every mouthful since someone, somewhere, had taken the time to make it. Not just that, but they'd left out any animal products so people with a conscience could eat it without a morsel of guilt.

Quinn hesitated for a moment, before stretching her hand out and placing it on Rachel's back, running her fingers over it in the same manner the girl had done to her. She was pleased when Rachel leant into the touch, giving her a slightly bashful smile.

"Well, why not?"

Rachel swallowed her mouthful. "Excuse me if what I say next is painfully obvious to everyone but me, however, I was under the assumption that we'd agreed to stay underneath the radar – as it were – and staying in a motel is, well, _not_ doing that."

Santana, who had sat back down next to Brittany, and leant her head on the girl's shoulder, shrugged.

"As much fun as it's been, holding up gas stations? Not really staying under the radar, is it? And shooting people, which hasn't _exactly_ been fun, is pretty much the same deal."

Quinn increased the pressure of her hand, rubbing Rachel's back with firmer strokes.

"So if we're going to be obvious, why not be comfortable?"

Rachel nodded thoughtfully, looking at the blonde with a slight frown. "Are you giving up?"

"No, we're not giving up. We're just, God, I don't know, Rachel. It's just –" she wanted to reiterate what Santana had said, about time running out, but something in the brunette's eyes stopped her. "We'll wear disguises, okay? And we have a different license plate so – let's be comfortable for a night. And let's see a whole day's worth of sunshine, and go from there."

All eyes fell to Rachel, and she paused for a moment. She agreed with everything they'd said, and the thought of a bed, and a hot shower, were so tempting she probably would've stopped at the nearest police station just to have one. The bottled water business was enough to get by, but once upon a time she'd had a vigorous and thorough shower cleansing routine that her pores were missing rather severely.

Anyway, they were willing to wear her disguises again.

And, a small lecherous voice in her mind whispered, she'd be in a motel room with Quinn Fabray. In a motel bed. Freshly showered and –

"Okay." She shrugged, trying to hide her blush behind her hair as she ate more of the soup.

Brittany grinned, discarding the rest of the contents of her bowl because it felt like vomit and tasted worse.

Santana squinted slightly at the obvious affection between Quinn and Rachel, wondering when exactly that had happened. Also, how far had it gone? Because her and Quinn were tight, but they'd never been _that_ tight. Hell, she'd only been that tight with Brittany.

And she was pretty sure that she'd declared her endless love to the girl in a fit of emotion and shock the night before. Which, sure, she'd own that and declare it again from a rooftop or whatever if she had to.

But this was _Quinn_ and _Rachel_.

She watched as they bent their heads close to one another, smiling and blushing like –

Well, _damn_. She wanted to laugh, because, _really_. But her laughter didn't come from that mocking place usually reserved for the midget, and sometimes for Quinn, this time. It came from somewhere else, somewhere happy and – and nice.

Shit, she thought, the power of love. It had turned her into a total fucking sap, but whatever.

Brittany stretched an arm over her shoulders, leaning down and kissing her forehead.

Yeah, whatever. This love shit was _awesome_.

* * *

><p>It was a nice night, as it turned out. The sky was clear, and the stars were plentiful. Next to the full moon, they couldn't see as many as before, but they could at least faintly see each other.<p>

Santana turned the car's lights off once they'd finished eating, while Brittany and Rachel each collected a sleeping bag and lay them, side by side, on the patch of grass they'd set their tents up in.

They still had a heap of food and candy left from, what they now affectionately referred to as, The Cherry Experience. There was booze, too, but for some reason none of them actually felt like drinking. They opened a bag of peanut butter cups, Jolly Ranchers, and Rachel assigned herself a packet of Oreos to join in on the sugar binge.

Sure, this wasn't happening in her living room while they watched romantic comedies, giggled over handsome actors, and played truth or dare. But it was still the closest thing to a slumber party she'd ever had, and she loved it. She loved them, these girls she'd once only dreamt of befriending.

Even Santana.

"Hey, Berry! You got anymore star stories hidden in that head of yours?"

Rachel relished both the feeling of the cool night air on her skin, and having Quinn's head resting on her shoulder, as she contemplated Santana's question.

"I could point out Orion's Belt, but I couldn't tell you the significance of such a thing, I'm afraid. I'm really more of a – well, a hoarder of romantic stories than one about constellations."

There was a moment of silence as they all kept their gazes on the sky, before Santana coughed slightly, as if trying to be nonchalant.

"I can deal with romance."

Rachel blinked, as the arm Quinn had wrapped around her waist tightened.

Her heart could've burst right then and there. To hell with the fear of the law and the horror of killing people, none of that mattered in this moment. Or, she reconsidered, perhaps this moment mattered even _more_ because of those things.

After all, what had she said? Everything mattered.

"Well, I – let me see what I can –" her first instinct was, of course, to recite any number of musicals she grew up watching. _My Fair Lady_? No, the ending was too ambiguous. _A Star Is Born_? Oh, _God_, her heart clenched at the thought of it. Far too tragic, she would probably dissolve into tears before she could even introduce the characters, though Barbra Streisand was _flawless_ and –

"Well, Berry? You telling us a story or what?"

"I'm thinking of one, Santana, and I ask for your patience while I do so."

Brittany dragged her fingernails up Santana's arm in a comforting manner, as the girl sighed impatiently.

"I know a story," she said, hoping the other girls would want to hear it.

"Okay, Britts, you tell your story while Berry takes forfuckingever to think of hers."

Rachel rolled her eyes, though didn't take the words to heart.

"Yes, Brittany, I would love to hear your story."

Quinn chuckled into Rachel's shoulder.

"Yeah, B, me too."

Brittany took a deep breath, and began to speak.

"Once upon a time in Paris, there was a lady cat called Duchess, and she had three children. She lived with her friend, an opera singer, called Madame Adelaide Bonfamille, who was really old and so had to write out a will. She decided to leave her whole fortune to her cats, which totally pissed off this creepy guy called Edgar, who was her butler, because he would only get all the money once Duchess and her babies had died..."

Santana closed her eyes, laying her head on Brittany's chest and listening to her heartbeat once more. Her voice was muffled, her body was warm, but her attention to detail with the story kept her from drifting off to sleep entirely. When Brittany loved something she remembered every single thing about it.

Rachel remembered seeing _The Aristocats_ when she was younger – it had been one of many reasons she had wanted a cat in the first place – and took simple utter delight when Brittany launched into the film's title song, 'Everybody Wants To Be A Cat'. The girl remembered every lyric, and while it was at first foreign to Rachel, she found herself joining in anyway for the final chorus.

Quinn wanted to laugh, and scoff, and give up on sanity completely. Here she was cuddling up to Rachel Berry, who in turn was singing a strange duet with Brittany Pierce about wanting to be a cat. Not just that, but they were in the middle of a forest, wanted for murder, and she was pretty sure their entire future was, at best, grim.

And yet, she wouldn't trade it for anything. Not for freedom, or not killing her parents, or even for all the Prom Queen tiaras in the world.

No more hiding, she thought, no more darkness. More than anything? No more fear. This was happiness, it had to be; she'd never felt so light.

Or free.

It wouldn't last. Time _was_ running out. But all of a sudden, she didn't care.

Nothing would take away from this moment, right here, surrounded by the only people she could say, without any hesitation, she loved.

O-O

Quinn drove them into Colorado the following morning, after a desperate search by all of them to locate enough pairs of sunglasses to deal with the morning sun.

The sunlight wasn't the only shocking reminder of the life they'd left behind, either. There were more cars on the highway, now. Brittany counted four before they'd even left Utah.

It was weird for four to feel like such a big number.

Brittany had taken over the radio once more, choosing the second CD of her compilation and singing along as loud as she could. She'd only ever played it at half volume at night, since it seemed wrong to be so loud in the dark.

But now, with the sun shining, and everyone smiling, it was just the _best_ to hear nothing but her music.

Santana sat behind her, laughing and singing too. Because, hell, she hadn't been as stressed in her _life_ as she had in the last month. Sure, there'd been moments of reprieve – especially the sex with Brittany moments – but for the first time in a long while, with music blaring, and countryside flying by her on either side that she could actually _see_? Well, it was the closest to freedom she could get.

Rachel watched Brittany and Santana laughing and singing, catching glimpses of Quinn's slight smile in the driver's side mirror as she rested her head against the window. Perhaps, one day, she would question why she felt so happy amidst all of this terror. Perhaps she'd question, too, why she even involved herself in the first place.

But that would be then. For now, she did her best to memorize this feeling, instead. To take a mental video of the girls around her; of Quinn's mouth, that she was almost aching to kiss again; of Santana looking happy, and allowing that happiness to be directed at _her_; and Brittany, dancing in her seat, as the sun shone on all of them.

She hoped, when whatever terrible future fell upon them, that she could simply hit replay in her mind, and stay in this moment for the rest of her life.

* * *

><p>Santana took over the driving after lunch, since Brittany was dancing too exuberantly to drive a car at the same time, and Rachel claimed she wanted to nap. Really, she just wanted to sit next to Quinn.<p>

Quinn stretched, getting into the backseat with a small smile to the brunette in the back. She'd just spent five hours stealing glances at the girl's mouth in the side mirror, and now she fully intended on getting as close to it as she could.

They'd spent the previous night telling each other stories until well after midnight, and had settled on a somewhat chaste peck goodnight in light of having to leave early the next morning and get as much sunshine as possible.

Now, with Santana and Brittany in the front, she hesitated slightly because –

Well, her brain had taken over her feelings again, apparently.

Rachel slid across the seat to rest her head on Quinn's shoulder, wrapping an arm around her waist and sighing contentedly. She actually was a little sleepy, after all, and when Quinn, in turn, stretched her arm around her shoulder, she found that the sudden comfort made her drowsy.

Santana caught Quinn's eye in the rearview mirror, quirking an eyebrow.

The blonde deliberated for a moment, before reaching up to Rachel's face, tilting her chin up, and placing a soft kiss against the mouth that had been the only thing she had found, in her whole life, that shut her brain up.

She met Santana's eye again, quirking her own eyebrow in return.

But the driver just winked at her, laughed, and turned her eyes back to the road and the dancing girl in the seat beside her.

Quinn took a deep breath, because that? That felt good.

Really good.

So she turned her face back to Rachel's, and kissed her again.

O-O


	8. Part 4b

"Well hey there, stranger!"

Brittany entered the motel lobby, red wig on her head and the smallest, tightest item of clothing they'd been able to find in the car. Her cleavage was pushed up, buttons popped open above it, and her skirt barely covered her hips let alone her ass.

Rachel and Quinn had tied the wig into piggy tale plaits, while Santana had refused to leave the car. Because yeah, Brittany was hot as fuck, but if whoever was in that fucking lobby even _touched_ her she was going to go all Lima Heights and shove a shotgun up their ass.

To finish the look, Quinn had lightly dotted Brittany's nose and cheeks with rouge, making it look like she had freckles on her face.

"Er, hi!" The man – well, _boy_, really – behind the counter replied, perking up because this was exactly what he had been waiting for. Sure, the pay check was good and all, but for two months there hadn't been a single hot lady who checked in that didn't have some well muscled asshole glaring daggers at him as soon as he checked out her rack.

Brittany walked slowly toward the counter, running a hand over her chest and down to her exposed stomach.

"I need a room, and I need it now." She fluttered her eyelashes, delighting in the boy's reaction as he swallowed visibly.

Guys were so easy.

"I can get that for you right now. Hell, I can get you _anything_ right now," he tried to wink at her, but it came off as more of a blink than anything else.

Still, he was kind of sweet looking, and he didn't seem to recognize her at all. She leant her elbows on the counter, knowing that it pushed her boobs together and made them look, like, doubly awesome than they already did.

His eyes fell to them, he was powerless to resist. He blushed, feeling things further south responding as enthusiastically as the rest of him.

"I like you," she breathed, biting her lip. He started to lean toward her, and she chose that moment to lean back quickly. "Oh hey, can I get two rooms? Me and my friends would probably like that better. But like, a door joining them would just be awesome."

He leant back, feeling his stomach drop a little at the mention of friends. Just great. He hoped she didn't have some tattooed boyfriend outside because, damn, he was _this_ close to offering himself as entertainment for the evening.

"Yeah, I can do that for you I guess. Is it, uh, how many guys need a – I have to write down on this card here what guests are staying so –"

Brittany giggled, because this was so much fun. She loved dress ups.

"It's just me, and my three girlfriends outside."

The boy looked like all his Christmases – and him – had come at once.

"Oh well, in that case if you need a little, uh, _assistance_ tonight you just let me know." He did that weird wink-but-really-a-blink thing again, and she slowly licked her lips just to see what he would do.

He went so, so red. She almost felt bad for him. She decided to let him down easily.

"That's so sweet, but we need separate rooms because we'll probably be having sex with each other and need privacy."

The boy had started trembling, and blinking rapidly.

"Oh! Here you go!" She reached into her cleavage, pulling out a crumpled fifty-dollar bill. They'd found a few of those in the car, which meant that for a while they wouldn't have to hold anyone up.

She was happy about that. Waving a gun was fun, and scrambling for food was fun too – like those game shows she'd always wanted to be in, where people had a minute to fill their shopping carts with stuff they wanted and got to keep everything until the buzzer sounded – but it made Santana so stressed out, she was glad for the break.

He swallowed a few times, reaching a hand out for the money and doing his best not to immediately lift it to his face and smell it. He turned to the computer behind the counter, trying to remember how to even use the thing.

Right, and room keys. He quickly lifted two up, memorizing the numbers so he could at least eavesdrop before he left after his shift.

"What name should I put?"

Brittany tucked both room keys into her bra, before scrunching up her face a little.

"Tina." She said after a moment. "Tina Mike."

"Tina," he whispered with reverence. What a beautiful name.

"Hey, where can we do laundry? We need clean panties and stuff."

He was _this_ close to asking if they were dirty, and if – if – man, he had spank bank material for the rest of his _life_.

"There's – there's – uh, O'Malley's Laundromat in town. In, uh, just down the highway there you'll reach the town – it's called Kim – and you can wash your – your _panties_ –"

She waved happily, and exited before he could finish.

He exhaled loudly, a grin splitting his features. He wanted to whoop because, hot _damn_ that was straight out of a porno or something.

Best fucking job he ever had.

* * *

><p>Showering was the best goddamned thing in the world, Santana mused, letting the hot water spray over her.<p>

Brittany opened the door, completely naked, giving her a smile and moving to join her.

Santana could admit when she was wrong. Because, actually, showering with _Brittany_ was the best goddamned thing in the world.

Ever.

* * *

><p>Rachel reclined on the motel bed in a white dressing gown, since she felt showering and then having to put dirty clothes back on kind of redundant. She wasn't sure how they would launder everything, since everything she owned needed to be washed.<p>

She would, perhaps, have to sacrifice washing an outfit in order to wear it into the town that Brittany claimed had a public laundromat they could use.

Still, she loved feeling clean. She loved having carpet under her feet instead of grass and dirt, and even the television was a welcome sight.

She adored nature, and believed that finding a balance between it and a suburban lifestyle was crucial to happiness. But she couldn't deny that the comfort of having a mattress beneath her body, as well as a constant source of hot running water and electricity, were luxuries she missed.

"I'd almost forgotten how good that feels," Quinn said, emerging from a cloud of steam as she opened the bathroom door.

Rachel felt herself blush, which was silly because it was just Quinn, and she was just in a bathrobe, and her skin was just a little flushed from the heat of the shower, and her hair was just a little wet from – her skin was just a little wet from –

She turned her head back to the television quickly.

She wished she'd thought to turn it on, first.

Quinn eyed the blushing girl, smirking when she recognized the expression on her face. She'd seen it enough times before; as if looking away from her somehow hid what the other person was thinking.

She towel dried her hair gently, keeping her eyes trained on the other girl, as she reached out for the television remote and tried to discretely turn it on.

Quinn couldn't help it, she chuckled.

"Is something amusing?" Rachel refused to turn her head back, pretending to be engrossed in the program on the screen. Someone was yelling at someone else, and dramatic music was playing. She raised her eyebrows a little. Maybe this _was_ a show she'd be interested in watching?

"Oh, you know." Quinn replied with a shrug, smirking to herself and wondering how far she could take things until the other girl lost control of herself. "Hey, could you help me dry my hair?"

Rachel blinked, frowning after a moment because there was a hairdryer in the bathroom. She'd used it herself. And Quinn's hair, while tousled and damp, surely wasn't wet enough to warrant assistance in drying it.

"There's a –" she started, before her voice was cut off by Quinn turning around so her back was to the bed. She dropped her bathrobe, revealing her upper shoulders and back, and turned her head to look at Rachel from beneath the strands of wet hair that had fallen over her face.

"Please?" She rasped purposely, struggling to hide a smile as Rachel's jaw dropped open.

Rachel swallowed visibly, before sitting straight up and all but running across the room. Her hands shook slightly as she took the towel from one of Quinn's hands, lifting it to the back of Quinn's head and gently starting to rub it against the wet hair.

Quinn was having a grand old time, before Rachel had run up to her. The girl's robe had fallen open a little over her chest, and revealed the swell of – of things she didn't even know she was attracted to. Plus, the girl now toweling her hair smelt so good after her shower – not that she hadn't smelt nice before it, but there was something about freshly washed skin that just –

She put her hands on the little table she stood in front of, dropping her head slightly.

"Use your – use your fingers."

Rachel blinked, dropping the towel immediately. Sure, this wouldn't dry Quinn's hair at all, but she'd forgotten that was the whole point of the request.

She ran her fingers gently through the wet, blonde strands, before finding the girl's scalp and pressing harder. She pulled her hands back, lighting dragging her nails over the skin, trying to contain a smug grin as the blonde let out a decidedly breathy and unintelligible sound.

Rachel gulped. This was it. This was the moment that led to her truly becoming an adult. Well, murder probably did that in the eyes of the law, but in how she viewed herself?

After this night she could no longer, with complete conscience, cover Britney Spears' classic, 'Not A Girl, Not Yet A Woman'. Because right now? She'd never been so willing to lose her virginity in her life.

Quinn's breath was getting shorter and shorter as Rachel's nails did things to her scalp she didn't even think she liked. God, talk about self-discovery.

The robe was slipping further and further down her arms, and she could feel the proximity of the other girl to the nakedness of her back – the warmth of her, Rachel's hair brushing along her skin –

She was about two seconds away from turning around and pushing Rachel onto the bed and, somehow, taking her right there and then. She could figure it out. Hell, if Santana and Brittany could do it, so could she. She would just play it by her. Learn by doing. By – by doing Rachel.

Right _now_.

"Come on bitches, I wants to wash my –" Santana stopped short, hand still on the door handle.

Rachel jumped away from Quinn – she'd been _this_ close to kissing the back of her neck – as Quinn let out a strange squawking sound and struggled to lift the robe back up.

"Hey San, can we –" Brittany appeared behind Santana, mouth dropping open.

"I'm sorry, are we interrupting something?" Santana had regained her composure, and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, crossing her legs and smirking.

"You guys haven't done it yet? We've done it like, three times already." Brittany crossed her arms, looking unimpressed.

Quinn wanted to die. She wanted to retrieve the shotgun from the car and blow her own head off. Or maybe Santana's.

Rachel ran her fingers through her own hair, turning her nose up defiantly.

"What we do is none of your business. Now, you mentioned laundry?"

Santana sniggered, meeting Quinn's glare with a wink.

"I say we head on down to that town, do some laundry, get some food and then get our asses back here."

"And how do you propose we do that without being recognized?"

Santana shrugged at Rachel, throwing her hands up.

"Wear those stupid wigs, and don't go pointing guns at everyone?"

Brittany nodded her head.

Quinn bit her lip, and then glanced at Rachel quickly.

"How about S and I do that, and get food, and you two stay here and – it'll be less obvious with the two of us so –"

"But I want to go!" Brittany pouted, and Rachel frowned.

"I propose the same combination, however with the opposite actions. You can stay here, and we will launder the items and retrieve dinner."

Santana rolled her eyes, though shrugged at Quinn because she didn't give a shit either way.

Quinn nodded slowly, and Brittany clapped her hands.

* * *

><p>"Hey, S?"<p>

Quinn and Santana sat on opposite sides of the double bed in Quinn and Rachel's motel room. The television played some movie that, were their lives still as they had been a month prior, would probably be interesting.

As it were, what with the guns and endless driving – not to mention the other girls they were with – the movie was actually kind of boring in comparison.

"Q?" Santana replied, eyeing the clock on the bedside table and wondering where the hell the other girls were.

They'd both worn red wigs, and while she was pretty sure they were unrecognizable – especially after Rachel had started talking like she was from Minnesota – she wouldn't be able to relax until they came back.

"When you and – do you remember cheerleading camp, freshman year?"

Santana frowned slightly. She was pretty sure she knew where this was headed, but if Quinn wanted to play, she'd play.

"Are you asking if I remember the first time I was surrounded by a hundred half naked athletic girls? Yeah, Q, I do."

Quinn ran her teeth over her top lip, wondering how she would get to the question she wanted to ask without Santana making fun of her for the rest of her life.

Or well, the rest of _this_ life. However long it lasted.

"That was – I saw you and Brittany. I mean, that was when I found out."

Santana's eyebrows shot up. Now that she hadn't known.

"Um, and how did you find out exactly? Wait, oh my God, that was _you_?"

Quinn's hands flew to her face, because this was so embarrassing.

"I didn't mean to! I needed to pee, all right? How was I supposed to know you and B were having midnight whatever in the bathroom?"

Santana sat up, twisting to stare at Quinn incredulously.

"I can't believe that was – you freaked us the fuck out! There we were minding our own business, getting all up in each other's business, and then there's doors slamming and shrieking and – Jesus fucking Christ that was you." Santana took a deep breath, then frowned and drew back a fist, punching Quinn in the upper arm as hard she could. "I made Britts cry because of that!"

"Ow!" Quinn rubbed at her arm, frowning deeply before she drew her own fist back and punched Santana's arm in the same spot. "And you gave me a fear of using the restroom at night!"

Santana shot off the bed, bending at the waist to punch Quinn in the same spot again.

"It's called knocking, you ass! I thought it was a councilor or, like, some fucking asshole who would ruin our lives and – and it was you the whole damn time!"

Quinn grit her teeth, trying to hold herself back from leaping on the girl in front of her and knocking her teeth out.

"What was I supposed to do? Say, hey S, you mind taking your hand out of B's sleep shorts so I can pee?"

"Uh, yeah, that would've been better than waking up the whole damn _cabin_!"

They glared at each other for a moment, before Santana suddenly laughed. After a moment, Quinn started laughing too, pouting a little as she rubbed at her arm.

"That fucking hurt."

"Watch your language there, Q, I'm starting to think you're turning into me. Not that I'd blame you, as a role model I'm fucking _awesome_."

Santana sat back down, lifting her legs onto the bed, and knocking them against Quinn's before she settled. Quinn returned the motion, laughing when Santana's legs nearly fell off the bed, before her expression sobered.

"When did you and B, you know, the first time? I thought that was it, you know, for a really long time but it wasn't, was it?"

Santana's expression cleared, too, as she took a deep breath.

"No, it wasn't. We were fourteen, actually."

Quinn's eyebrows shot into her hairline.

"What?"

"Look, it wasn't like that, okay? It was – her parents were gone, and I was staying over as I always did on the weekends. You know, till my brother moved out and I got the room to myself. Anyway, we just – I don't even know why we did it, but the alcohol shelf was just there, all unattended and shit, and boom, we took like three sips of vodka and were wasted."

Quinn turned onto her side, giving the other girl her full attention.

"And you started making out?"

Santana mirrored the position before she started talking again.

"Yeah, pretty much. We'd been watching _Cruel Intentions_, you know? And there was that bit where the chicks start making out halfway through, and – I think B suggested it, but I was already thinking it – and we started kissing too. With tongues and, like – we'd both kissed boys before and whatever, but this was different. This was Britts, you know? She was my best friend."

Quinn smiled softly, picturing it in her mind and finding it didn't repulse her or make her feel weird. It was actually kind of sweet.

"And you went all the way?"

Santana grimaced slightly.

"We tried to. Like, we _did_ but we were so young and kind of drunk that it was just – the intention was there, I'd pay that. But it wasn't like we came or anything," Santana started laughing at the look on Quinn's face. "Sorry, Q, but isn't that the point? Anyway, look, we woke up the next day and just tried to laugh about it. But I was freaking out because it was the first time that I realized I wanted that kind of thing, you know? And B just kissed me – morning breath and all – and said how glad she was that I was her first."

Quinn watched as Santana looked at a spot on the wall, as if far away from the motel, and everything that had led them there.

"What did you say?"

Santana's attention snapped back to Quinn's face.

"Not to tell anyone. I hightailed it out of there, called Puck when I got home, and went and got my mack on with him."

"So, how did you – when did you do it again?"

"The very next weekend. And the one after that. Hell, every chance we got. And yeah, we got a lot better at it, better than any of the guys I fucked, too." Santana sighed, before pursing her lips at Quinn. "Now why don't you ask me the question you really want to know the answer to?"

Quinn gulped, her expression turning from sympathy to nervousness.

"Look, I – I slept with Puck, okay? But he was the one who – I didn't know what I was doing, but he did and that was okay. And with Berry – with Rachel, I mean, I think it's going to – look, we're probably going to jail or whatever so why –" Quinn squeezed her eyes shut, trying to find the courage to ask the question without burying it in excuses. "_I'm_ the experienced one this time, or meant to be, but I have no idea what I'm doing."

It was a moment Santana had never expected to happen between them. That they'd team up and murder people? Well, sure, she hadn't _expected_ it but it wasn't out of the realm of possibilities either. That they'd make an awesome gun-wielding band of badasses? Well, duh. That was just like, logic.

But that, in a motel room somewhere in Colorado, Quinn would instigate a deep and meaningful conversation about losing virginities and sleeping with chicks?

Never. In a million years.

"Look, I'm not about to walk you through the technicalities because – because that isn't what it's about, Q. Besides, if I have to sleep tonight knowing you and Berry are consulting some lesbian textbook I gave you to figure out what to do to each other then –" she shuddered. The whole thing would be awkward enough as it was. "So I'm just going to give you some advice, okay? Advice that might've saved me a whole bunch of confusion with Britts, so you best be thanking me for it."

Quinn stared at her with such a look of hope.

"What is it?"

"Just do what you want to, and listen to her, okay? Sleeping with guys is like – with Puck, you pretty much just had to lie there and he would've been happy, you know? Like, sure, there's a bunch of shit you can do to make it better, but it's all over when he's done, right? But with girls, there isn't really a finish line. I mean, I think it's awesome because you can gets your fuck on all night if you want to, but don't spend your whole time trying to get her to finish is what I'm saying, because sure, there's like a million more orgasms, but it isn't really about that. Pay attention to how she responds to you, let her know what you want, hell, try out what you'd want on her if you get really stuck. But mostly, Q? Just feel it all. Don't stress your brain out about what goes where and for how long, just feel."

Quinn blinked as Santana reached a hand out, resting it on her arm and giving a gentle squeeze.

The door opened, Brittany carrying an armful of laundry that she then dumped on the floor. She grinned, skipping over to the bed and kissing Santana quickly, before skipping back out.

Rachel entered the room with an armload of her own, giving Quinn a shy smile before leaving again.

"Thank you," Quinn whispered, as they both got up to begin sorting through the mountain of clothes.

"You're welcome, Q. Now, let's never _ever_ speak about this again."

O-O

Santana stretched the following morning, feeling her shoulders pop. God, she'd missed beds. Hey, maybe there were pluses to getting arrested after all. She'd get a bed every night, for one, and meals and –

She felt Brittany stir beside her, cracking an eye open and offering her a lazy grin.

"Morning," she mumbled sleepily, looking as if greeting the day was the last thing she wanted to do.

But they would have to get up, and leave Colorado, and find some other motel to sleep in. Or another fucking forest, depending on their paranoia levels for the day.

They packed up the room as best they could, pocketing the mini shampoos and soaps.

While Brittany knocked on the other girls' door, Santana put the last of their shit in the car, and got into the driver's seat. After the conversation with Quinn the night before, she felt she'd contributed enough to the situation without having her face be the first thing they saw when they emerged from their love nest or whatever.

Brittany walked to the car, getting into the passenger seat with a grin on her face.

"They totally did it," she said, turning to Santana and laughing. "I bet you ten dollars – no, wait, I forgot – okay, I bet you that Quinn and Rachel sleep the whole day in the car because they didn't sleep at all last night."

"And what are you betting, then?"

"Whoever loses has to be the one who stays in the car the next time we hold some place up."

Santana blew out a breath, because if she took this bet she'd totally lose. But Brittany looked so happy. Fuck it.

"Bet accepted."

They decided to shake on it. Then kissed on it. Which, of course, turned into making out on it.

Quinn jogged to the car with a bag on her arm, having used the excuse to pack the car up the previous night in her effort to deflect away from the fact that she was probably going to jump Rachel. It had also allowed her a few moments to compose herself as she thought over what Santana had said.

Rachel appeared in the doorway, looking for all the world as if she was about to spread her arms either side of her, burst into song and Julie Andrews her way to the nearest hill.

Santana scowled, because she had _definitely_ just lost that bet.

O-O

Once again, they drove in sunshine. Brittany counted the cars they passed, and chair danced along with the music some more. Santana allowed herself to smile, even when a police car overtook them soon after they passed the Kansas state line.

Quinn and Rachel missed most of the trip, having curled into each other and fallen asleep not long after they'd driven away from the motel.

Brittany had turned in her seat a few hours in, and leant over her chair to watch them sleeping. She wished she had a magic marker so she could draw on their faces or something.

They looked so cute though, she thought. Quinn had her head resting on the shorter girl's shoulder, and Brittany realized she'd never seen her friend look so relaxed.

She was going to suggest they get drunk that night, she thought, just for fun. But also to see if Quinn was still a horny drunk since she'd had a bunch of orgasms with Rachel. She'd totally be happier now. She knew first hand how grumpy sexual frustration made people.

Santana had acted surprised that the girls were totally making out and stuff, but Brittany wasn't, not really. She figured that, given the right circumstances, anyone could make out with anyone. People were just people, and while some were hot, it was about what was inside them. Quinn and Rachel were both super hot, that was true, but it wasn't until they got to know each other on the inside that they started making out.

And all it took was eleven people dying, a bunch of places getting robbed, and a probable future spent in jail for it to happen.

Brittany smiled. So worth it.

O-O

"No guns this time," Santana said, taking a deep breath as she kept her eyes focused on the neon sign hung above the diner.

"Won't they recognize us without the wigs?" Rachel asked sleepily, stretching her arms out either side of her and as she took in their surroundings.

She'd awoken to the car stopping, and both Brittany and Santana talking about getting burgers from the diner in front of them. There were a lot of cars in the parking lot, and despite the previous twenty-four hours, Rachel felt something akin to dread as she took in the diner.

"Let's just see what happens?" Quinn suggested, eyeing the place and feeling her stomach grumble.

They straightened themselves as best they could, rummaging in the trunk for a make up bag so they could apply, at least, a light coating to their faces.

When they were done they didn't look like they'd spent the day, let alone the previous month, driving.

"You look beautiful, Quinn." Rachel murmured, gazing at her shyly. She couldn't help it. They had experienced the most incredible and intimate of activities the night before – Rachel's stomach dropped as she remembered the look on Quinn's face when she'd –

"So do you." Quinn replied, smiling softly and reaching for her hand.

"Come on, love birds." Santana rolled her eyes, walking purposefully toward the diner with Brittany in tow.

She was going to walk in there with a smile planted on her face, ask for a booth and order some food. If they were given so much as a second glance, or anyone acted like an asshole, they'd simply leave.

It was time they _truly_ became invisible, and what better way than blending in with a crowd?

They were seated by a pleasant looking waitress that had 'Katie' written on her nametag, and were each given a menu.

Brittany immediately ordered a banana malt milkshake, and when Katie looked at them all expectantly, the other girls scrambled to make a beverage choice.

"Chocolate shake, Katie." Santana said with a flirtatious smile. Hell, folks didn't call the cops on people who were nice to them, right?

"Strawberry," Quinn deliberated a moment between that and a juice, but it had been a while since she'd consumed dairy. Plus, she'd been wanting to order burgers and shakes at a diner since she'd stopped being Lucy. It had been her favorite meal, once.

"I'll take an orange juice, unless your establishment offers a soy milk based milkshake for its vegan clientele?" Rachel asked hopefully, as Katie frowned at her.

"I'll check the kitchen for you, if you like? What flavor do you want if we have it?"

"Vanilla malt, please." Rachel beamed as Katie scribbled down the items and left their table. "I can't believe no one recognizes us!"

She'd never thought she'd be so excited to appear as a nobody, as a typical teenager without a star filled future.

"San! There's a jukebox!"

Santana glanced at it, before shrugging.

"Okay, so what do we want?"

Quinn kept her eyes on the menu, despite the alarming realization that she was currently in a diner with Rachel, Santana and Brittany in what could likely be called a double date.

Just when she thought her life couldn't more bizarre.

The previous night though? She'd never felt anything like it. In a physical sense, sure, but on this crazy emotional level where everything had just been so _intense_. In a good way, and that had surprised her even more. She'd been brought up not to rely on emotions – or rather, to rely more heavily on what was socially acceptable – and the sheer intimacy of the night before left her feeling somewhat conflicted.

On the one hand, she was pretty certain she was now in love. For the first time in her whole life. But on the other? They were on the run, and time was running out, and now was not the time to be feeling that kind of thing. Because now it hurt even more to think about what lay ahead of them.

Suddenly, Rachel's safety was the most important thing she could think of, and she wished desperately that her original plan had worked. That the asshole fuckwit hadn't tried to rape the girl, and had just let her make the phone call, be picked up by her dads, and go back to her life.

Right now Rachel could be back in Lima, safe, and planning her future again. Sure, they never would've become friends, or kissed, or had the previous night which, for the most part, Quinn didn't ever want to give up or not experience again.

But Rachel would be _safe_.

She ignored the conversation going on with the three other girls, even as they laughed and pointed at other patrons who were dressed weirdly, or had funny eyebrows, or whatever. Because what had Rachel said about love? That the other person's safety and happiness became more important than your own.

And she'd wanted to feel it, so badly. Hell, maybe she'd felt it for longer than she realized, because that original plan? It had really only saved Rachel, if it had worked. Who was she kidding? The three of them would've been locked away regardless of hostage witness accounts or whatever. Only Rachel would've been freed, and allowed a future filled with happiness.

So there it was. She was in love with her. Truly. The feeling she had waited for her whole life.

But it was too late. It had been ever since she drove a knife into Russell Fabray.

* * *

><p>"I can't believe they had it!" Rachel exclaimed, drinking enthusiastically from her straw. It was silly, really, to feel so excited to have a beverage that looked exactly like the one the other girls had. But it was the little things that made her feel included.<p>

Under the table, she had her hand on Quinn's knee, and was slowly dragging it higher.

Sure, she'd been a virgin for a long time and hadn't anticipated losing that virginity so early in life. But now that she had? Well, she had a lot to make up for.

It had been exactly as she imagined it would be, while being nothing like it at the same time. Quinn had been so gentle, but so passionate, and Rachel had lost herself to the sensations sooner than she'd thought she'd be comfortable with.

She remembered that night with Jesse, and how nervous she'd felt as she prepared in her bathroom. And then with Quinn she hadn't even bothered to wash her face or put on a sexually appealing bedroom outfit. She'd just let the girl grab her, and kiss her, and push her down onto the bed.

"This is the best plan we've ever had," Santana said around a mouthful of chili cheeseburger, looking like she was about to orgasm with her mouth.

Brittany just nodded, moaning into her own bacon double cheeseburger because it was the best thing she'd probably ever tasted in her life.

But then, a month of canned soup and candy can do that to someone.

Quinn took a bite of the bacon explosion she'd ordered, trying to stop her eyes from rolling back in her head. Even though the previous night had been the most pleasurable experience of her life, this was pretty close to second. There was, like, a million layers of crispy bacon, Rachel's hand was on her thigh, and this was pretty much heaven. It had to be. To hell with thoughts that made her heart ache.

Rachel delicately picked up her fork, spooning pasta into her mouth and trying to stifle her own moan. Because, sure, soup could get a little repetitive. But this sauce was to _die_ for.

Quinn blushed when Rachel moaned, and Santana snorted.

"You all right, Q?"

Quinn just glared at the girl across from her.

"Hey San, I'm going to go check out the jukebox." Brittany kissed the other girls cheek, leaving half her burger and fries on the plate, as she stood up and walked over to the giant, ancient machine.

Santana threw her own burger down onto the plate, patting her stomach.

"I don't know if it's the candy or soup or what, but I can't eat as much as I used to."

Quinn shrugged, seeing as though she'd built up an enormous appetite the night before and slept all the day, and hence was starving.

Santana slid along the booth, stepping out of it and walking towards Brittany, who had chosen her selection and was waiting for it to start.

She laughed when 'Life Is A Highway' started blaring through the speakers, and leant against the end of the diner's counter as Brittany started to dance along to the music.

As per usual, when Brittany started dancing people tended to start watching. An old man in a flannel shirt tipped his cowboy hat at the dancing girl, before joining in. His movements were slower, but still held the same level of enthusiasm.

Once Brittany noticed him, she offered her hands to dance with him properly.

God, she loved that girl, Santana thought. One of the dancing man's friends, with his own flannel shirt and cowboy hat, approached her with a smile and offered her his hands.

Well, why the fuck not?

At the table, Quinn finally finished the bacon burger and took a sip of her milkshake. She was trying her best to push all thoughts of love, and doom, out of her head and just enjoy the moment.

But it was hard.

"Are you all right?" Rachel asked her, slightly worried that the other girl was freaking out about the night before. Which would be ludicrous seeing as she'd been as enthusiastic, if not more so, than Rachel had been.

"Well, I guess as much as can be expected," Quinn replied, turning in her seat so she could see the other girl better. "You?"

"Yes," Rachel answered truthfully. "More than okay, to be honest with you. Aside from some rather nasty things bearing down on us, the last twenty four hours have been the best of my entire life."

Quinn reached out a hand, cupping Rachel's cheek.

"You want to, maybe, dance with me?"

Did Barbra tie with Katharine Hepburn for the nineteen-sixty-eight Academy Award for best actress? Was _The Way We Were_ one of the most hauntingly beautiful romances of all time?

Of _course_ she wanted to dance with Quinn!

And so the four of them took turns choosing songs – as did those who danced with them – as the night wore on.

Rachel took it upon herself to take a break from dancing, and climbed onto the diner's counter to sing along loudly with the jukebox. She was no longer a virgin, she was in love, and right now she had an audience for the first time in, what felt like, forever.

She dedicated 'I Touch Myself' to a blushing Quinn; 'Bitch' to Santana, who blew her a kiss; and 'Break My Stride' to Brittany, who had to be forcefully dragged from the dance floor when it was time to leave.

It had been a magical evening all round, and Brittany wished they could stay in Kansas, and live near the amazing diner that had a jukebox absolutely _filled_ with nineties music, forever.

O-O

They camped overnight in a field off the highway once they were in Oklahoma.

Rachel wished she'd brought her camera to take a picture of herself standing next to the state sign. It had been her second favorite musical – after _Funny Girl_, of course – for all of a year, and it still held a special place in her heart.

She was thankful they were driving in daylight now, so she could keep an eye out for a surrey with a fringe on top.

As she climbed into the tent she shared with Quinn, though, all thoughts of musicals left her.

The blonde had the flashlight on, pointed at the tent roof as a makeshift lamp. Her hair was tousled from where she'd been lying down, though she sat up when Rachel entered.

She didn't even care that Quinn still tasted faintly of bacon.

O-O

"I say we head west, across to Arizona, then north through Nevada." Quinn frowned slightly. "If we keep going east, we'll end up just getting closer to Ohio."

Santana sighed, seated in the passenger seat and wishing she had a damn coffee. There was something about mornings that her body did _not_ agree with.

"And then what? We head east, and we've got states worth of places to drive through before we start crossing over places we've already been."

Quinn just shrugged though, her voice low as they watched Brittany and Rachel laughing and packing up the tents.

"Either way, S, it's not like it'll matter soon enough."

"It's been a few days since we've – listen, Q, maybe the heat will die down and we can –"

"_What_, S? What exactly are we going to do? We don't have I.D's, or fake social security numbers, or _any_ information that means we can stop somewhere, get jobs, and live a normal life. We have nothing. We're teenagers, everybody we know lives in Ohio, in _Lima_, and I'm pretty sure most of them want us to get caught."

"So what, we just give up?"

"No, no we don't. We just keep driving, okay? It – when they catch us, we'll surrender. We won't put up a fight, and we'll let them arrest us because it's better than getting shot. We'll apologize, even though it won't mean shit, but we'll apologize because maybe, if we show remorse, they'll lock us up but they won't separate us."

Santana rubbed her forehead with her hand.

"I really wanted to go to Mexico, you know. Or find that lesbian cowgirl town."

"I know, I know. I did too."

"But this is all we have, you're right, Q."

"I don't want to be right, S, I don't."

"But it's time we faced the music, hey?"

Quinn reached for Santana's hand, gripping it tightly.

"Just so you know, I love you. Thank you for – just thank you."

Santana wiped at her eye, ready to insist it wasn't a tear. It was just, like, raining on her face or something.

"I love you too."

They hugged tightly, pulling apart only when Brittany and Rachel started walking to the car with the packed up tents, talking and laughing.

"So, we get some gas and then head over New Mexico to Arizona, right?" Quinn strapped her seatbelt over her chest as Santana nodded at her.

"What you guys talking about?" Brittany asked happily, climbing into the backseat as Rachel followed her.

"How hot you are," Santana replied, turning in her seat and winking.

"You okay?" Rachel asked Quinn, noting that the blonde seemed slightly upset by something.

"Yeah," Quinn answered, taking a deep breath and starting the car.

* * *

><p>"Look, I don't care, it's a place called <em>Beaver<em> and, in case you hadn't noticed, that is relevant now to _all_ of our interests." Santana smugly crossed her arms over her chest, as Quinn signaled them to turn off.

"Can I go in with you, San?" Brittany hopped out of the car and followed the girl into the gas station.

"Will you tell me what's wrong?" Rachel asked, getting out of the car and leaning against it as Quinn began pumping gas.

"I've just realized some things, that's all." Quinn replied, keeping her eye on the numbers that were clicking over since they only had a certain amount of cash and she really didn't want to add any more crimes to the list of shit against them right now.

Rachel paled. She had been thinking they were on the same page about things, after all, especially since the night before Quinn had been _so_ intense with their love making. She'd had to force herself not to confess her love right then and there.

"Oh, I see. Well I understand if you wish to reverse our relationship back to –"

Quinn's head turned quickly.

"No, God, Rachel I don't want that at all. Rachel, I –" she couldn't say it. It hurt too much to think of saying it, and then have it ripped away from her. "It's been the happiest few days of my life, okay? I don't want that to end."

She put the pump back in its holder, and put her hands on the shoulders of the girl she had, somehow, fallen in love with.

"Well then why are you acting so distant?"

"Because," Quinn whispered, pulling Rachel into a hug. "I don't want to see the look of disappointment on your face when I tell you that I don't think we have much time left."

Rachel reached her hands around the trembling girl, and squeezed her as tightly as she could.

"I know that, Quinn."

"You do?"

Rachel felt her hair move as the other girl spoke.

"Of course I do. If I thought we realistically still had a chance to reach a destination that, perhaps, we could build a new life in and escape the repercussions of what we've done, I'd have suggested we go there a week ago. However, in light of recent developments, I've come to accept that all we have is right now."

Quinn pulled back just far enough to see Rachel's face, staying in the embrace.

"Really?"

"Quinn, I knew that you had – well, reached the same conclusion when you suggested we forego driving at night, and stay in a motel. But what was there to say? We can't run forever."

Quinn leant forwards, pressing her lips to Rachel's tenderly.

If there was a moment for a declaration of love, it was now.

"Rachel Berry, I –"

"Oh shut up you lecherous old goat!" Santana called, storming out of the gas station and back toward the car with her arms laden with groceries.

Brittany followed, looking behind her shoulder.

"What happened?" Quinn asked, disentangling herself from Rachel, slightly relieved that they'd been interrupted.

"Well, turns out taking a gun in there would've been a good idea since the asshole recognized us."

"What?"

They all started getting back in the car, eager to drive away.

"Yeah," Santana grumbled, clicking her seatbelt into place as Quinn got in beside her. "Didn't tell us until _after_ I'd made fucking small talk with the ass, all smiles and shit. I don't give a shit if we're holding up a place or not next time, I'm taking a gun."

She turned them south as they left Beaver, Oklahoma and crossed the border into Texas. After an hour or so, she turned them west and headed toward New Mexico.

If luck was with them at all, they wouldn't have to stop again for a while.

* * *

><p>"But Brittany, we have a plethora of alcohol in the trunk of the car, I don't see why you felt the need to purchase more?"<p>

"Because he was a smug asshole, that's why!" Santana yelled from the front seat, annoyed at everything in the entire world.

"And?" Rachel inquired, not really caring about the added alcohol since getting drunk with Quinn might be even more fun now that they had added things like making out, and making love, to their relationship.

"Look, I don't know, okay? It was a last minute decision, just to see if he'd stop us. And he didn't. Because he was an asshole."

"Guys?" Quinn asked quietly, not wanting to alarm any of them, but feeling her heart rate quicken because of what she was about to say. "I think we're being followed."

They all, barring the driver, turned in their seats to look through the back window. There was a car a few hundred yards behind them, but it didn't have lights flashing or seem to be speeding after them.

"It could just be some random?" Santana said, turning back around.

"Maybe." Quinn muttered, keeping an eye on her rearview mirror anyway.

* * *

><p>The car was still behind them, staying at the same distance, as they drove across New Mexico. The sun was setting, and Quinn was so tired she could barely see straight, but that damned car was still there and she didn't want to stop.<p>

"It's definitely following us." Rachel said timidly, unable to tear her eyes away from the headlights that had followed regardless of the turns they had made, or hours that had passed.

"Should we – should we get the guns out and –" Santana started, but Quinn shook her head.

"No. But I don't know what to do. I need to stop driving, but –" she blinked her eyes, struggling not to yawn.

"Maybe we should stop?" Brittany said slowly, leaning forward. "But only if we all agree."

Rachel's stomach dropped. Whether it was her sixth sense – which had been suspiciously absent during the last month – or just plain fear, something was informing her that stopping would only lead to something bad.

Santana was feeling the same thing in the pit of her stomach. Because yeah, her and Quinn had talked about getting caught and whatever else, but did it have to happen now? Couldn't they keep driving for a while, see some sites, continue to have fun without killing anyone?

Quinn wanted to cry, she really did. But she had to stay strong. Besides, maybe it was just a coincidence, and they could let the car pass and continue on their way?

Better they figure it out, either way, before she drove them off a cliff. She'd been driving continuously for nearly twelve hours straight now.

"Maybe we should."

Santana and Rachel remained silent, neither able to raise their voices and agree.

"We have to all agree," Brittany reiterated. "It has to be – to be all for one, and one for all, like the musketeers."

"There were three of them," Santana mumbled, still unable to address the stopping issue.

"And then they had four of them, because they let that little one join." Brittany offered Rachel a slight smile.

"Okay." Rachel said, because if this was it and it went badly, she wanted it to be because they all decided together. Besides, Quinn had already agreed, hadn't she? And they were a couple, now. Properly.

Santana groaned, and closed her eyes. So it all rested on her? Which sucked, because she'd already tried to come to terms with them getting caught and whatever, but facing it? She wasn't ready.

"Fine." She agreed, because hell, she'd _never_ be ready.

* * *

><p>They pulled into a gas station just before Duncan, Arizona.<p>

Brittany and Santana headed into the store – Santana making sure to tuck a pistol into the waistband of her jeans – while Quinn tried to convince Rachel to go in with them.

"I'll wait with the car. I want to make sure whoever is following us just drives right past us, and when they do I'll come in and get you."

The shorter girl smiled as reassuringly as she could, as Quinn shook her head.

"Just come in, okay? I don't want to leave you out here."

But Rachel pressed her hands firmly to Quinn's chest, and pushed.

"It's less conspicuous if one of us is out here, and you're the most recognizable one of us, Quinn. So go inside, now, before they get here."

Quinn kissed her quickly, before jogging into the gas station.

"Can I help you?" The attendant asked, and Quinn shook her head, trying not to look as petrified as she felt.

"Just browsing."

Santana and Brittany were looking at the shelves, trying to appear as natural as possible.

"Hey, what the – don't I know you?" The attendant asked, as the sound of screeching tires suddenly erupted from outside.

Quinn's head snapped up to look through the windows, one hand reaching for her gun as six dark cars and one state police car pulled into the gas station and surrounded the car.

"Shit!" Santana yelled, whipping out her gun and pointing it at the glass, then the attendant, and back again.

It was as if everything was moving in slow motion, all of a sudden. She watched in horror as men in dark blue jackets strode toward Rachel, who was raising her hands in the air and looking over her shoulder as if to find Quinn.

They grabbed her, turning her around and bending her over the hood of her own car. She was being handcuffed, and led away as Quinn was grabbed from behind and pulled behind a shelf.

"This is it," Santana said, voice shaking. "This is fucking it."

"They have – they have Rachel and I –" Quinn was trembling all over. "I never told her I –"

"San?" Came Brittany's frightened voice. "They've got guns."

"Santana Lopez, Brittany Pierce and Quinn Fabray – come out with your hands in the air."

The voice boomed with force, and authority. It wasn't like the cops in Camp Crook, who had almost pleaded with them to give themselves up. This voice was strong, and serious, and above all completely frightening.

"Fuck," Santana shook her head.

Slowly, Brittany began to raise her hands and stand.

"All for one?" She said softly, and Santana lunged up, grabbing her and kissing her with everything she had.

"One for all." She replied when she pulled away, dropping her gun on the floor and nudging Quinn. "Come on, Q."

Quinn dropped her weapon, eyes wide, heart racing as one thought repeated itself over and over in her mind.

She should've told Rachel she loved her. She should've told her when she had the chance. Fuck, why had she been so stupid? Better that the girl know she was loved than it was for Quinn to avoid having her heart broken.

And really, fuck that logic anyway. Her heart _was_ breaking, and Rachel _was_ being ripped away, despite her attempts to keep from feeling this.

Why hadn't she told her she loved her?

Slowly, the three of them came out from behind the shelves they had hid behind. Their hands were raised in the air, palms open.

Twelve men and women in dark coats stood with their guns pointed towards them, with two police officers in Sheriff's department uniforms off to the side doing the same thing.

One of them looked young, and the hand that held his gun shook slightly.

The three girls walked through the automatic doors of the gas station, and four of the men and women in dark coats began walking quickly toward them.

"You are under –" one of them began saying, before a shot fired.

Everyone ducked at the sound of gunfire, except for Santana, who fell to the ground.

"San!" Brittany screamed, falling down next to her as blood began seeping from the girl's chest.

"Britts?" Santana asked dazedly, before her eyes slipped closed.

Brittany was forced to her feet by a woman in a dark coat, who turned her head to yell for an ambulance as the girl in her hands began to scream.

"San!"

Quinn couldn't believe what was happening.

"Santana?" She cried, as someone grabbed her wrists and pinned them behind her back.

A car was already pulling out of the station, and when she turned to look at it, she saw Rachel's face looking at her from the back window. Her eyes were wide, her face pale, and she couldn't seem to tear her gaze away from where Santana lay bleeding on the ground.

"Quinn Fabray, you are –" someone started saying, but she didn't care.

"Rachel!" She screamed at the moving car. "Rachel! I love you!"

Rachel looked at her then, her face scrunching slightly as if she couldn't hear her.

"Quinn Fabray, you are under –"

"I love you Rachel!" She cried out again, as the car pulled onto the highway and began to gather speed.

She collapsed onto her knees.

It was over. Everything. They were –

They were done.


	9. Part 5a

**Part Five – If You Steal My Sunshine**

The _Sue's Corner_ theme begins, as generic and energetic as it was before. Now, however, there is an underlying thumping bass beat. Sue can be seen standing outside of _Joe Shmoe's_, and then the diner in Utah. Next, she is back at her desk staring seriously into the camera. Now she stands, laughing at something off screen. Then she is running along some suburban street in pursuit of a hooded figure, who glances behind him in fear. It cuts to Sue wearing sunglasses with her arms folded, smirking into the camera. Behind her is a van with a satellite dish on top of it, and _Sue's World_ written across the side. Cut back to Sue chasing the hooded figure, catching up to him and tackling him to the ground. A police officer shakes Sue's hands with a relieved smile on his face. The final shot is Sue again wearing sunglasses in front of her van, though she is no longer smirking. Zoom in on her hands, which form her patented 'C' shape. The words 'Sue's Corner' are stamped underneath her hand, though a line appears to cross out 'Corner'. 'World' is stamped over it as the music ends.

Sue is in a studio, though this one is designed solely for her. There is one desk centre stage, with _Sue's World_ in large letters behind her. She no longer wears a tracksuit. Instead, she is dressed head to toe in a navy blue zoot suit with a bright yellow button up shirt, matching tie, and fedora.

"Good evening America! Welcome to a very special edition of _Sue's World_ – the highest rating break out show dedicated to catching criminals this country has ever seen. From a humble beginning in Lima, Ohio, to nation wide syndication and a studio of its own. The last eighteen months have been a hell of a ride. And I know you'd agree with me, viewers, when I say that it's all thanks to a group of young ladies now serving consecutive life sentences in the Ohio Reformatory For Women."

Sue wipes a fake tear from her eye.

"Just thinking of those girls – no longer considered delinquents, what with Brittany Pierce set to celebrate her nineteenth birthday in a few weeks time – and I wonder, viewers, what a birthday party in prison is truly like. Perhaps clowns make balloons into shivs and cigarettes instead of animals? Hell, they might not even allow clowns in jail. It might be a three hundred pound inmate called Bessie, doing time for smuggling heroin in from the Middle East. If that's the case, ladies, I wouldn't accept _any_ balloons from her no matter their shape, and not just because they're probably filled with grade A narcotics; it's a safe bet they've been in her anal passage for a good long time now – well, just thinking of them brings tears to my eyes. Once upon a time I coached those girls – not including Rachel Berry – and once upon a time I had great hope for their future – also not including Rachel Berry."

She sighs.

"You may be asking yourselves: why reflect on something that hurts you emotionally, Sue? Why go there at all? You've single handedly caught three of the nation's most wanted criminals in the last year and a half with your journalistic integrity; leave that awful foursome – the ones that got away – behind you. Well, viewers, the reason I dredge up these painful moments of my past are because I have an announcement to make."

She leans back, raising her hands.

"But to give you the full effect of such an announcement, let's take a trip down memory lane shall we? The next hour will paint the most thrilling, most heart wrenching moments of the 'Faberrittana' saga from start to finish. From my first interview; to the beginnings of _Sue's Corner_ and my sworn vow to catch the girls myself; to the trial that rocked the country almost as much as _Sue's World_ currently rocks yours."

She smirks.

"So sit back, viewer, and pay attention. I know it's been a long time now, but I promise to make it worth your while. In the final moments of tonight's show, I will reveal something that all other journalists, reporters, police officers and Triple F enthusiasts will envy for the rest of their _lives_."

The screen fades to black.

A shot of William McKinley High School from the outside. Sue is dressed in a black tracksuit with red stripes down the side.

"Here is where it all started. Behind me is the school where Quinn Fabray, Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez and Brittany Pierce grew from young girls with promising futures, into killers."

Shots of each girl as a small child. Santana grins toothlessly; Brittany is sticking her tongue out; Quinn has a small smile on her face; Rachel is bright eyed and grinning at the camera.

"What happened? What changed?"

Now they are around ten years of age. Santana is caught mid laughter, eyes closed; Brittany is flexing her arms and straddling a dirt bike; Quinn wears a pretty dress and a large bow in her hair, smiling tightly at the camera; Rachel has a microphone in her hand, mouth wide open, and one hand pressed to her heart.

"From all accounts – including the girl's own – the day they murdered the Fabrays started as normally as any other. They each came to school, and attended their classes until sometime around midday."

Class pictures of each girl from their senior yearbook.

"During the trial, the girls swore up and down that the murder was not premeditated. Hell, the judge even ended up believing them. But I pose this question to you, viewers,"

Sue squints into the camera.

"Why would three popular girls, with known animosity for a fourth, get into her car without hesitation? Why would that fourth girl then drive to one of their houses – the one who tormented her the _most_ of the three of them – and help her kill her parents, on a _whim_?"

Cut to the front lawn of the high school, now being filmed in black and white. Four girls run in slow motion toward a car, each looking over their shoulder. The word 'Dramatization' appears at the bottom of the screen.

The four girls smile at each other, pretending to whisper, and the shortest one lifts her skirt slightly to reveal a knife strapped to her thigh. One of the blonde girls nods and smiles, high-fiving the other blonde. The fourth girl is wearing a shirt that depicts two women kissing, and her hair is cut into a mullet.

Still in slow motion, the camera pans to a window of the high school as the girls get in the car. Sue stands at the window with her arms crossed and a suspicious look on her face.

It cuts back to the present. Sue is now seated in her old office. The trophies are gone, but the desk remains the same.

"As I sat in my office that day, viewers, I knew in my gut that those girls were up to no good. But I didn't go after them, because who would expect such sweet faced, attractive young ladies to debase themselves with a crime spree? This isn't Jane Adams' for Pete's sake!"

The black and white dramatization continues with the girls driving at a high speed and laughing. In the backseat, the mulleted girl and one of the blondes make out. The girl in the front passenger seat plays with the knife, as the driver laughs and drinks a can of beer.

Sue now stands outside the Fabrays residence.

"When the girls arrived, neither Judy nor Russell expected the carnage that was to follow. During the course of the trial, lawyers from both sides argued the statements from the girls over and over until no one knew what was real and what was a poor attempt at excusing themselves from first degree murder."

Back to the dramatization. Inside a nice looking dining room, a well dressed and middle-aged couple sit reading the paper and sewing. They smile at each other, before jumping in fear as there is a screeching noise from outside the house. The girls burst through the door, shrieking and laughing. One is brandishing a knife, and rushes forward to stab the man in the back.

"Now who's grounded, Dad!"

The others shriek with laughter, as two of them move forward to restrain the woman. The girl with the mullet points at the woman's chest and laughs, as the girl with the knife keeps stabbing the man.

"I want a turn!" The girl with the mullet leaves the woman. She takes the knife, and starts stabbing the man while laughing.

"No! Please!" The woman struggles against the tallest blonde girl, as the fourth claps gleefully.

"Shut up you old bag!" The tallest blonde starts strangling the woman.

"We should go kill a bunch of other people!" The shortest yells, disappearing up the staircase and returning with a packed bag.

The others all agree, letting the bodies of the man and woman fall to the floor. They high-five on the way out, still laughing loudly.

Back to Sue, who now stands outside _Joe Shmoe's_.

"Their lust for blood not satisfied by the gruesome murder of the Fabrays, the girls scoured the country for more innocent people to murder. They got themselves some breakfast in Indiana, then headed back down to Ohio as they searched for more victims."

The girls drive recklessly, screaming and laughing and throwing things out of the car windows. They arrive at the roadhouse.

"I bet there's a whole bunch of people to kill in there!"

The shortest one gets out of the car, taking another knife that's strapped to her thigh and running into the roadhouse.

Inside, three nice looking men sit at separate booths. They are all dressed in their Sunday best. The cook smiles and waves from the kitchen as the girl pushes through the door.

"What can I do for you, Miss?"

"You can die!"

The girl goes towards the back to enter the kitchen, but one of the men stands up.

"Now listen, don't you come in here threatening us young lady! We're honest, God fearing folk, and we don't mean you any –"

"Die mother fu–" The word is bleeped as the girl leaps on him, stabbing him repeatedly.

"Oh my word! Stop that!"

A second man stands, crossing himself as he moves towards the girl. She keeps stabbing the first man as he screams, then turns and stabs the approaching man. The third runs out the door with his arms flailing, as the cook emerges from the kitchen.

"Please stop killing us! I'll give you whatever you want, just please stop!"

There is a loud thump, and he falls over sideways. One of the blondes is behind him holding a bat. She is laughing and pointing at the smaller girl still stabbing the men, covered in blood and smiling.

"Killing is so much fun!"

"Let's go do it more!"

They leave the roadhouse. When they're gone, the cook stands up and rubs the back of his head.

"Thank God I was saved! I must call the police right now! We have to catch those girls! As God is my witness, I won't let them get away!"

He leaves the roadhouse, blinking into the sunlight as he hears an engine rev.

"Not so fast, bitch!"

He shrieks as the girls' car runs him over.

Sue looks somberly into the camera from the _Camp Crook General Store And Repair_.

"It seems that murder wasn't enough to satiate the girls as they sped across the country. They wanted money, and power."

The girls are driving again, spotting a policeman on a motorcycle and speeding up until they hit him. The car then screeches to a halt, one of them jumps out and runs over to the man's body. She takes his gun, laughs, and jumps back into the car.

"Now armed, they headed to Camp Crook – a small town filled with hard working individuals struggling to get by. After committing their first act of armed robbery, they headed here to perform a feat of athletic prowess."

The actual footage from the Camp Crook security camera plays again.

"Where would they go next, viewers? What horrors awaited the people who were yet to encounter them?"

The dramatization continues with a montage of the girls driving, laughing and yelling. They shoot the gun out of the window, periodically make out, and flip people off.

Sue stands in front of the Utah diner.

"And here is where their reign of terror reached its peak. Inside this building five people died. Five good people, whose sole crime was eating in the wrong diner at the wrong time."

The girls pull into the parking lot, the four of them getting out of the car. They now each have two guns – shotguns, pistols, and one wields two machine guns. They run into the diner, shooting up the place and laughing. An old lady falls over screaming, while the cook and waitress huddle together. They are crying, and kiss, as they get shot and die.

"After this? Well, the girls claimed, under oath, that they reached a turning point. No longer filled with blood lust, they sought only to enjoy their freedom while it lasted."

The girls stand in a forest.

"We should get rid of these guns so we can get away with all of this!"

They all nod, dropping their weapons.

"We're way too stupid to be able to escape justice forever."

"We better play nice so when the cops catch us they let us off easy!"

"Yeah, good plan!"

They all laugh, high-five, then start making out with whoever is closest to them.

Sue now stands outside a courthouse, dressed in a maroon zoot suit with a black shirt.

"The trial was as, you may remember, ridiculous a circus as their crime spree. Triple F rallied outside the courthouse day and night, demanding the girls be freed and classified as heroes, while a group of religious nut jobs demanded the death penalty."

Footage of a crowd is shown. Some hold up banners in favor of the girls – 'Triple F – Faberrittana Freedom Forever'; 'Hate the crime not the criminal'; 'They probably deserved it'; 'I love you Santana!' – while others are covered in flames and demonic faces.

A police car arrives, and the crowd erupts in both screams and booing.

Handcuffed and wearing sunglasses, Rachel Berry is escorted from the car and towards the steps of the courthouse by four police officers. She hides her face as she walks, though smiles at a small girl who waves at her. The little girl wears a shirt with a big gold star painted on it.

A second police car pulls up once Rachel is inside. Also handcuffed and wearing sunglasses, Brittany Pierce is next escorted through the crowd by police. She smiles brightly at the crowd, lifting her hands to wave. An officer strong-arms her hands back down. She purses her lips and makes a kissing motion instead. The crowd shrieks in response.

A third car pulls up, this time with Quinn Fabray inside. She hides her face as she is escorted, keeping her head down and not smiling at anyone. People in the crowd try to reach out and touch her, and a teenage girl faints as the police officers and Quinn walk past her.

Finally, a fourth car arrives. Santana Lopez is helped out of the car, one hand is cuffed to a police officer while the other arm is in a sling. She beams at the crowd, her sunglasses light enough that her wink is visible through them. She grimaces with pain every few steps, nodding her head at girls as they shout things at her. When she reaches the top of the stairs, she turns, quickly lifting the arm handcuffed to the police officer and waving. She smiles brightly, even as the officer yanks the arm back down. With an eye-roll, she allows herself to be turned around and enters the building.

"Viewers, I did my best to get a camera into that courtroom. I truly did. Unfortunately, all I was allowed to take in with me was a note pad, and Finn Hudson. You'll just have to take my word on what happened inside, as well as the numerous accounts by fellow journalists who did their best to bastardize the proceedings with misquotes and, frankly, ridiculous accusations. That Russell Fabray physically over-powered his daughter and her act was one of self-defense? Preposterous. That Rachel was almost raped at the roadhouse? Well, I'll concede the man had similar accusations against him from another woman. But who in their right mind would sexually assault that ridiculously verbose Oompa Loompa? It's simply logic, people. Sorry, Lurch."

Sue gestures to something off camera.

"As always, viewers, Lurch is on the scene with me. There was a time when I wished the boy had been included in the girls' killing spree, but you rang in with your concerns about his safety and who was I to deny my public their love for a giant idiot with a heart of gold?"

She shrugs, then smiles.

"The initial trial raged for over a month, as calls for the death penalty seemed to be heard by Judge Alfred Thompson. But then the trial was put on hold, and Judge Mary St John replaced Thompson after a controversial scandal involving a young Taiwanese boy, and some photographs that surfaced at just the right time for the girls. You were outraged, viewers, your calls to the studio not only disconnected the line completely, it proved beyond a doubt that _Sue's Corner_ wasn't over."

Sue walks down a few steps, smiling kindly towards the camera.

"Judge St John turned the case around. All thoughts of the death penalty flew out the window as the girls were sentenced to consecutive life sentences, to be served at the Ohio Reformatory For Women, in the quaint small town of Marysville. Triple F cheered! Until the final stipulation of the seemingly light punishment was revealed – despite serving their sentences at the same prison, the girls would be separated not only into different cellblocks, but also different levels of security and punishment. Brittany Pierce and Rachel Berry are currently each serving a life sentence for the murders they committed, as well as their roles as accessories in armed robbery, in medium security conditions. Santana Lopez is serving three life sentences under close security, and will likely never see a world outside of jail again. And finally we come to Quinn Fabray, serving a total of five life sentences, under maximum security. Not only will she never see the world outside, it's likely she won't be seeing sunshine again in her lifetime either."

Sue shakes her head sadly.

"And still the debate rages on, viewers. Why did they do it? What was it that set them off?"

She looks into the distance.

"Perhaps we'll never know. If only there was a way I could ask them myself."

The screen fades to black.

Sue is back in her navy suit, sitting at her desk and smiling cockily at the camera.

"Which brings me to my announcement. Brace yourselves, viewers, you're going to want to hear this. For eighteen months I have fought to get close to those girls; to allow cameras into the courtroom so you could watch justice be served with your own eyes; to get into their holding cells and talk to them myself. Hell, I was ready to commit a felony incognito and get into that prison the old fashioned way to get my one-on-one."

The camera zooms in on her face and upper body.

"But it seems that someone up there heard my pleas for journalistic justice, because on next week's show, ladies and gentlemen, I will be coming to you, _live_, from the Ohio Reformatory For Women. I, and I alone, have been granted an interview with Quinn Fabray. What, viewers, you say that isn't exciting enough? _Well!_"

Sue plants her hands on her desk and leans toward the camera.

"I'll also be interviewing Santana Lopez, Brittany Pierce, and the dwarf. What's that, viewers, that's _still_ not exciting enough?"

The camera zooms in on Sue's face.

"I'll be interviewing the four of them at the _same time_. That's right, you heard me! Live on national television I, Sue Sylvester, will be interviewing the most sought after subjects in the country! Not only that, it will be the first and _only_ time they have been reunited since their capture! And before you ask, no, you aren't invited Katie Couric! And I've been assured this _one time_ event will _never_ be repeated! In your face!"

Sue laughs triumphantly as the camera pulls back.

"So tune in next week, viewers, to witness the once in a lifetime interview opportunity you've all been waiting for. I'm going to ask them the hard hitting questions, the whys and hows that no-one else has been able to get out of them! And I won't rest until all of my questions – and yours – have been answered!"

She curls her fingers over her thumb.

"And that's how I see it!"

O-O

The _Sue's World_ theme plays.

Sue sits in a white zoot suit and red shirt, looking proudly into the camera. She is seated in front of a white bricked wall that has a large, tinted glass window on it. To either side of the window are prison guards in freshly pressed uniforms holding shotguns.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I'm coming to you right now, live, from Ohio Reformatory For Women, where Quinn Fabray, Santana Lopez, Brittany Pierce and Rachel Berry have been incarcerated for just over a year now. They are serving consecutive life sentences for a crime spree that took the nation by storm a year and a half ago. Tearing up the country for a little over a month, these girls struck fear into your hearts, even as you wondered what had happened to make them turn into such deviants. Was it related to sexuality? Had they fallen victim to Satan worship? Or had they simply snapped under the pressure to be perfect?"

Sue gazes thoughtfully into the camera, biting her lip. Her make up and hair is immaculate.

"Well, wonder no more. Across from me right now sit the ladies in question. Hello, girls."

Sue turns her head slightly, looking past the camera.

The girls are seen seated in four chairs, side-by-side, with more armed guards behind them. They are not handcuffed – each have their hands clasped in their laps instead. In front of them is a large table.

Brittany glances at the camera pointed at them every so often, but doesn't look at the other girls. Santana stares resolutely ahead. Quinn keeps her eyes on her hands, and Rachel looks back at Sue.

"Tell me, ladies, how is prison life treating you?"

Brittany reaches a hand up to scratch her nose. A guard behind her twitches slightly in response.

"The food kind of sucks, and this morning I totally nearly twisted my ankle in yoga class. But it isn't so bad."

Santana shrugs nonchalantly.

"It's regimented as fuck. That pretty much sucks, because I can't sleep in anymore and I've got a time limit on sunshine. But it ain't as bad as I thought it would be."

Rachel nods her head.

"I was expecting to be molested in a group shower situation, or shivved – it's what we call sharp weapons here in prison – in the work yard in some sort of gang war dispute. I have to admit, however, that the only thing that has so far come close to that was when I was crowned American Idol during last month's prison wide contest. I'll admit, Janice had a lovely voice and near perfect pitch, but you can't beat eighteen years of vocal training on raw talent alone."

Quinn doesn't look up from her hands, or answer the question.

Sue blinks, then frowns as if in thought.

"And this is the first time you have been in each other's company since your arrest, is that correct?"

Brittany shakes her head.

"We saw each other at the trial, remember? You were there, Coach."

Santana frowns.

"She isn't our coach anymore, Britts. Don't call her that."

Sue seems to be gritting her teeth slightly.

"You were seated at separate tables and not allowed to speak at the trial, come on!"

Quinn lifts her head, and stares at Sue.

"What did you expect us to do exactly?"

Sue leans back in her chair.

"Frankly, I wasn't sure. The allegations of sexual intercourse between the four of you, and the impassioned pleas not to be separated led me to believe that you would _miss_ each other."

Rachel shrugs her shoulders.

"It's been a long time. But we spent years before the – before we – anyway, years before all of that not being friends. We spent a month together, that is true, but it's been more than a year now. People change."

Something twitches slightly in Quinn's jaw, and Sue leans forward.

"You're blatantly lying! What is this? An attempt to have your separation clause revoked? Well it won't work ladies!"

Santana rolls her eyes.

"Are you going to ask us anything interesting or am I missing _Jersey Shore_ for no reason right now?"

Sue splutters, cheeks flushing.

"Why'd you kill the Fabrays? Answer that!"

Santana rolls her eyes again.

"We already did, during the trial. You know, the same place you were and the same things you heard, but choose to ignore."

"What are you talking about, you haven't –"

Quinn calmly shrugs her shoulders.

"You do realize there are televisions in here, and that we've been able to watch your show for a while now, right? Including last week's. Boy, was _that_ an interesting episode."

Sue's eyes narrow, and then she smiles and shrugs her own shoulders.

"What can I say, ladies? In the absence of truth, we have to fill in the gaps ourselves. But right now you have an opportunity to right anything you feel has wronged you."

Santana nods and smirks.

"All right then. Let's hit this bitch. Ask us again, _Sylvester_."

Behind her, one of the guards fights off his own smirk.

"Was the Fabray murder planned?"

Quinn's face is impassive.

"No."

Sue squints slightly.

"So why kill them?"

Quinn sighs, as the other girls remain silent and don't look at each other.

"Because I panicked. He overpowered me, so I fought back. And they helped me because I'm their friend, and they were scared."

Sue looks dubious.

"And if your claims of self-defense are actually real, how do you explain the following crime spree? Wouldn't a good, Christian girl like you opt to turn herself in and face a just punishment for the _horrible_ crime she has just committed?"

Rachel clears her throat.

"We were all frightened. It's that simple. We fled because we were running away. The events that followed were purely circumstantial."

Sue smirks.

"Ah yes, the mighty Berry and her stabbing rapists frenzy. It seems convenient that the first person you murdered turned out to be a rapist, don't you think?"

Rachel just smiles, not rising to the tone in Sue's voice.

"It wasn't very convenient at the time. I was there to turn myself in, actually, and a man decided to take what he could get, if you will allow me to be so crude. What followed was purely self-defense."

Sue rolls her eyes.

"Oh please! You killed the man because you wanted to be part of the gang! One of the cool kids you'd found yourself shacked up with. Hell, it could've been a ritualistic rite of passage for all we know!"

Rachel remains calm.

"Let me ask you a question, Sue. Do you think a woman, having been raped, easily enjoys the rest of her life?"

"I don't – what kind of question is that? How would I know?"

"Well, having now been in prison with over two thousand other female criminals for a while now, I've gotten to know many a rape survivor. It's a lot more common than you'd believe, Sue. And those women, whilst remaining strong and confident, and _beautiful_ in their continued fight against being a victim, will still carry that experience with them for the rest of their lives. Some of them, in fact, lost their virginity in that despicable, violent act. And for the _rest of their lives_, that is a truth about them. A fact, Sue, since you seem to enjoy those so well."

Sue's face is expressionless.

"Your point?"

"My point is that I will spend the rest of my life knowing I murdered two people, and assisted in the deaths of others. That is my burden to bear. But my burden will never be that I lost _my_ virginity due to sexual violence. I won't have to remember that, or overcome that, or find the strength that was stolen from me _because _of that. I'm lucky, Sue, and I would rather be accused of murdering someone in an act of self-defense, than spend the rest of my life wishing I _could_ kill him."

Santana smirks, turning slightly in the direction of Rachel, but not looking at her.

"Amen to that."

Sue pauses for a moment, before shrugging.

"An impassioned speech, and a worthy cause. But let's move on, shall we? Brittany, my Brittany, tell us how it felt to perform that incredible star basket toss in Camp Crook."

Brittany smiles.

"Awesome. I totally knew it'd get us out of there, and you made us practice that toss so often. Like, I went forward instead of up, but it just made the landing easier!"

"It _was_ awesome, Britts."

Santana smiles, too, glancing at Brittany quickly. Brittany blushes slightly, glancing at Santana.

"Thanks, San. You tossed me perfectly."

"Speaking of you, Lopez, how's the shoulder holding up?"

Santana purses her lips slightly.

"Well, it hurt like a fucking bitch at the time. I passed out when it happened – and I'm still suing that asshole cop, just so you know – because like, I had _surrendered_ and he still _shot_ me. I think it was a hate crime, to be honest."

"She's lucky it wasn't four inches lower, and seven to the right, or it would've gone right through her heart."

Brittany looks troubled as she speaks.

"But it didn't, so whatever."

Santana says it hurriedly.

"Interesting. Viewers, we'll be back after this commercial break for more on the fearsome foursome, and how they became heartless murderers."

* * *

><p>Sue smiles into the camera, appearing calm and relaxed.<p>

The girls sit there expressionless, except for Rachel who appears stricken.

"Ladies, tell the nation, what was it like killing innocent people?"

Quinn turns her head from something off camera, and looks in Sue's direction.

"Awful. It was the most awful feeling. We didn't want to hurt anyone, we were just running scared."

"Yeah, Q is right. It was like, fun at first to have a gun and rob people. Whatever, I've said as much before. But it's just so easy to press your finger down, and then suddenly someone is hurt or dying and it's like, fuck."

Sue crosses one leg over the other.

"And it took shooting Elsa Lafontaine, and _five _people in Utah for that point to hit home, huh, ladies?"

Santana scowls, though it's Quinn who answers.

"Unfortunately, it did. And we will never stop apologizing for that."

Sue sits forward suddenly.

"Oh cut the crap, girls! You _enjoyed_ it! The power, the fear that comes from aiming a weapon at someone and _knowing_ that it could end their life with the slightest pressure!"

"No, we didn't."

"Not really."

Both Quinn and Santana shrug, as Brittany suddenly gasps.

"Oh my God, I forgot to say hello to my peeps in Lincoln Block! Monique, Dominique, Geminique, and LaFresia – hey!"

Brittany waves at the camera, as the guard behind her chuckles.

"Charming. All right Fabray, next question goes to you. Why the change of heart after Utah?"

"Enough was enough. We didn't want to hurt anyone else. That was it. So we didn't."

Quinn's attention is again drawn to something off camera. Rachel glances at the same thing, still looking upset.

Sue huffs.

"Lopez! Maybe you'll make this excursion worth a damn! Tell us what it was like stabbing Russell, or shooting Elsa, or _anything_ you're in prison for! And don't give me this guilt crap!"

Santana takes a deep, calming breath. She settles back in her chair, and then lifts her eyes to the camera.

"What it felt like to take another person's life? Well, if you had asked me that a year ago I probably would have answered with something designed to make me look badass. I won't lie about that, it's how I used to roll. And then I got charged with murder, and sent to prison, and Britts was taken away from me. My best friends were taken too. And that should make a girl feel weak, but it didn't. Because I was in _prison_ for _murder_ and the Government was so shit scared of me and my friends that they separated us. I realized that _no one_ would _ever_ be more badass than me. Than us. Not in all of Lima. We were going down in history and, hey, I'm cool with that."

Santana smirks slightly as the guard behind her laughs a little.

"But how did it _actually_ feel to kill someone? Well, Sylvester, it was all whatever at the time. But now that I've really thought about it, you know, reminisced and shit in this place like we're meant to, I have to say, it feels pretty shitty. Who am I to take away someone else's life? And who is the Government to take away mine? It's just a whole damn tragic mess, and me and my friends are now going to spend our whole lives locked away so people can feel better about themselves or whatever. But you know what? Once upon a time, _none_ of us had killed anybody. And then we did. So sure, feel safe in your little homes knowing we're locked up and can't get you. But you aren't safe, and you never will be, because there are people out there, walking free, who could fuck your shit up way worse than a bunch of scared girls fighting for their freedom."

"Well, that's –"

Santana holds her hand up, looking at Sue, whose mouth closes with a curious frown.

"I'm not finished. Before this interview continues, I just wanted to say that the opportunity to express my opinions live on camera is a real treat. Thank you, ex-Coach, for pulling whatever strings you had to."

Sue looks half flattered, and half confused.

"It wasn't an easy feat, but nothing stands in the way of Sue Sylvester and the search for the truth."

"I've gotta say, Sylvester, you getting your own show because four of your students went on a crime spree? It's as if, oh I don't know,"

Santana looks directly into the camera, leaning toward it and quirking her eyebrow.

"Fate has laid a hand."

Sue's frown deepens, as shakes her head slightly.

"Yes, well, it is what it is. All right, Oomp Loompa, you're up. Are you involved in a lesbian relationship with Quinn Fabray? Rumor has it you two have been knocking boots for years now, which I have to say, Q, makes me extremely disappointed in you. I mean, come on! Sexual experimentation is whatever it is, but to choose this singing mini-Shuester over a plethora of attractive –"

A siren goes off very faintly in the background. Two of the guards standing behind the girls seem to hear it, look at each other, and then move out of shot.

"There is nothing to that rumor."

Rachel's voice is quiet, and she swallows visibly. Quinn's eyelids flutter as her lips tighten.

"It's ridiculous."

Quinn's voice is very soft. Very faintly, in the background, there is the sound of yelling.

Sue looks off camera, frowning.

"What? What do you mean there's a –"

Cut to Jessalyn Briggs, who sits at her news desk with a shocked expression on her face.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we interrupt the live feed to the Ohio Reformatory For Women as a – I can't believe this – a riot has broken out. I repeat, inmates at the Ohio Reformatory For Women – where over two thousand women are currently imprisoned – are rioting as we speak. Warden James MacDonnell has assured – he's currently assuring Sue – we have her on a live audio feed – and he is assuring her that the riot will be contained and – Oh my God –"

Jessalyn presses her hand to her ear, her jaw dropping.

"We can't do – we –"

She jumps, wincing at her earpiece, as a hand comes up to cover her mouth.

Cut back to the prison, where Sue Sylvester is on screen looking into the camera. She is agitated. Beside her, Quinn Fabray has a shotgun in her hands and is aiming it at Sue's head.

Finn Hudson is also on screen, with his arms raised and looking like he wants to cry. Santana has a shotgun trained on him.

A third person stands with them, also with his hands up. He wears a suit, and looks as if he's about to die of fear and embarrassment. Brittany points a third shotgun at him.

Rachel steps in front of the screen, a shotgun in her hands though it points at the floor.

"Good evening, America! My name is Rachel Berry, and I am coming to you live from a prison in Ohio. Right now, as you may have heard, inmates here are rioting. More than two thousand women are currently fighting against about, well, I'd say three hundred guards. I mean, so many have gone out on sick leave lately, it's ridiculous. I overheard the warden – you can see him behind me here – saying that you can't find good staff anymore, especially not for a prison."

Rachel laughs good-naturedly.

"Anyway, I'm sure you're wondering what we're doing on your screen. Well, the thing is, we've decided that if we _aren't_ being shown live, we're going to kill more people! Such as the lovely three behind me, one of which is an authority figure in our community, and the other two of whom are beloved by most of the people watching."

Sue's face darkens as she glares at the back of Rachel's head.

"So that's up to you, police officers and news people out there. If you cut away from us for any reason, we'll simply murder these lovely people behind us. Of course, we don't want to, we'd like this all to go as smoothly as possible. So if they end up dead, well, that won't be on us. That will be on you."

She smiles.

"Finn? Would you pick the camera up and shoot this for us? I'm afraid the cameraman is dead, and we'll be on the move shortly. Speaking of, Brittany? The door?"

Finn is shaking, and moves out of shot. The camera jerks as if it's being lifted, and Brittany searches the pockets of the warden before removing a bunch of keys and moving out of shot.

The camera follows the group as Rachel walks through the door first, aiming her shotgun at the warden and Sue as they walk through the door. Quinn follows with her gun aimed at their backs. The camera follows, turning to look at Santana as she follows them. She lifts her shotgun up.

"Eyes forward, Finnessa!"

Brittany skips into the shot, aiming her gun at Sue and the warden, as Rachel pauses and waits for the group to pass her.

"I apologize, Finn, for this. But you must understand that I have no choice."

She moves out of shot, and Santana jogs to the front of the group as they make their way down a hallway.

There is yelling, and a siren sounding, coming from the direction they're headed in. After a few moments, a group of women burst through a door at the end of the hallway. Their leader is a tall girl with olive skin and dark hair – she has tied a bandanna around her forehead, and has a teardrop tattooed under her right eye.

Santana jogs to her, and they hug briefly, before gesturing toward another door. Brittany throws the set of keys to them.

Quinn turns to look at the camera.

"If anyone takes a shot at any of us, we'll shoot Sue. We'll shoot Finn. We'll shoot the warden. They'll all die. You make sure they know that."

Finn's voice can be heard, though the camera continues to follow the group as more inmates join them, brandishing brooms and whatever weapons they can get their hands on.

"Rach, please don't do this. Okay? I love you. Please don't do this."

Rachel's voice is muffled; the yells of the rioting inmates are too loud.

The warden turns his head, face stricken.

"Stop it! All of you! Don't you dare! You won't get out of here!"

Sue is bustled by the throng of people around her.

"Watch your fucking hands! Don't you know who I am?"

Brittany keeps her shotgun trained on them, the inmates leaving enough room around her, Quinn, Rachel, Santana and the newcomer so that they can keep their guns and weapons raised.

They continue down another hallway, down a few flights of stairs, before coming to a set of thick bars.

"Open it!"

The warden laughs as Santana unsuccessfully tries to open the door.

"That door requires clearance from the other side, you stupid little bitch! You'll never get through there! The fucking front door? Are you kidding me?"

Santana rolls her eyes, stalking toward the camera until she's right in front of it.

"Listen, assholes, let us through or we'll kill one of these bitches. I don't even care who, at this point, though if the warden calls me stupid again I'll kill him just for the hell of it."

Sue's chest is heaving as she watches the women around her, chanting and laughing. They are rattling the bars as guards on the other side raise their pistols, looking unsure.

Santana stalks back to the bars.

"Open the Goddamned door or we'll start killing!"

One of the guards shakes his head furiously.

"No way! You are not getting out of here!"

"Really, dude? You're going to let these people die _live_ on television instead of opening a door?"

The guy gulps as the camera shakily watches him.

"Live? You're what?"

Santana cocks the shotgun, keeping her eyes on the guard but aiming it at Sue.

"You've got to the count of five. One –"

The guard keeps his gun trained on Santana.

"Two –"

The camera goes back and forth between Santana and the guard, as more shrieking erupts behind the group – more inmates have broken past the guards left inside the prison.

"Three –"

The guard begins to shake, glancing at the warden, who is now shaking _his_ head furiously.

"Four –"

"Oh for God's sake!"

Sue lunges and grabs the shotgun out of Santana's hands, swinging it behind her and depressing the trigger.

The warden is blown backwards, blood spraying on the inmates that had been standing around him.

"Open the damned door!"

Sue cries out, her eyes bright as Santana gapes at her.

"I've never felt so alive!"

Quinn looks nervously behind her, past the camera.

The doors slide open as Sue trains the shotgun now through the bars, aiming it at the guards.

Brittany gives Quinn a shocked look as the group begins to move through the doors.

Finn's voice can be heard very faintly.

"Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God."

Sue has taken up leadership, gesturing for the group to follow her as they head through the front doors of the building and down the steps, onto the grassed front lawns of the prison property and toward her news van.

The camera follows as Santana gets to the van, snatching the shotgun back from Sue and forcing her to get inside. Brittany follows, then Quinn. A few inmates get in with them, before the camera moves into the van.

The van starts, and Quinn appears in the camera's screen.

"Keep it live, or we'll shoot Sue and Finn. If we see anyone behind us, or helicopters, we'll shoot them. We'll fucking kill everybody. We'll stop and shoot a stranger on the street. Just keep it live."

The back of the van is dark. Twelve girls are cramped into the small space, sans Rachel and Santana. The camera turns to the driver – Santana – as Rachel peers into the back of the van from the passenger seat. She looks at the camera when it turns to her.

"Keep it on the girls, Finn."

The camera swings back.

It stays on the girls in the back of the van. Quinn's face is pensive, and Brittany is biting her lip.

After half an hour, the van stops.

Quinn reaches past Finn, and the sound of a door sliding open is heard. Most of the girls get out. The only exceptions are the girl wearing the bandanna and with a tattoo of a teardrop on her face, Sue, Brittany and Quinn.

The sound of a door sliding shut is heard.

The camera jerks around as the van is started again, and continues to jerk around as if the van is driving over rocky terrain.

The girl wearing the bandanna moves to the front, softly murmuring in the driver's ear. The camera goes to follow her, but Quinn frowns and smacks the cameraman, so it stays in the back.

Twenty minutes later, the van stops again.

Quinn reaches past the camera, and the door slides open.

"Out."

The camera moves out of the van. There is nothing but forest around them.

"This is ridiculous."

Sue gets out of the van, hands behind her head as Brittany follows with a shotgun pointing at her back.

Rachel joins the group, pointing her gun at the camera.

"Time to put it down, Finn."

As the camera is being lowered, there is a screaming sound from the van.

"Fuck you, Rose!"

It's Santana's voice, and then a shotgun blast sounds, making everyone jump.

Santana stalks into the shot, blood splattered all over her face. She aims the gun at Sue, then glances at the camera with a scowl. She aims the gun toward it instead.

"Enough of this fucking camera! The warden is dead, and so is Rose! And you know what, America? So are you!"

She depresses the trigger, there is a blast, and the screen goes black.

O-O O-O O-O O-O

"Santana Lopez, tell the court – in your own words – what it was that caused you and your friends to flee Lima after murdering Russell and Judith Fabray?"

Santana took a deep breath, wincing as the low ache in her shoulder intensified with her breath. She couldn't stop staring at Brittany, wishing she could just vault over the stupid witness stand and grab the girl. Just grab her and hug her tightly and not let go.

This sucked.

"We didn't know what else to do. We were scared, and horrified, by what we'd done." She closed her eyes briefly, trying to convey all the guilt she could muster. Fuck, maybe she could start crying or whatever? That would make the jury melt, she just knew. "It was awful, that day. It was easily the worst day of my life. I lost my innocence, I lost my home and my family. Yeah, we ran. But what's the point when you have nowhere to go, you know?"

Her lawyer nodded sympathetically, turning to survey the courtroom and make sure everyone was paying attention.

She looked at Brittany again, who gave her the tiniest of smiles.

She used those eyes like an anchor. Hell, she'd say anything as long as she could stare into those eyes for the rest of her life.

"Let's go to the day of your arrest. Tell the jury – and the court – the events that led to your injury – an injury that very well could have taken your life."

"We knew we were being followed. I mean, we knew we couldn't run forever. We were seventeen, we didn't know anybody that could help us. We were running scared, and blind, and we made a pact to – to stop killing people, and to surrender once we were caught. So that's what we did. We walked out of that gas station without any weapons, arms raised like they wanted. I was –" there were the tears she'd been looking for. She wiped one away, making sure to wince as she did it. "Kind of relieved, you know? It was over, we could stop running and being scared. And then before I knew it, there was this explosion of – of so much pain in my chest like – I thought I was going to die. And I couldn't figure out why, I had surrendered! I thought the police, you know, I thought they respected people who gave in to them and I – maybe it's because I'm gay, I don't know –"

* * *

><p>Brittany took a deep, calming breath. She could see Coach in the stands, frowning at them and looking all intense. And there was Finn! She looked around for anyone else she might know, but mostly it was stern faced people in suits.<p>

Quinn looked so sad sitting there, stealing glances at Rachel. Rachel kept looking back at her and trying to smile, though the tears in her eyes made it look so tragic.

And then there was Santana, gazing back at her. She wanted to smile, and laugh, but didn't. Because sure, this sucked and was really bad, but Santana was alive. She'd kept her promise.

The first few weeks in the holding cell, or whatever it was called, had been the worst. She was sure Santana had died, and all of a sudden she didn't care about being locked up or thrown down a hole or whatever would happen to them. For the first time, she pretty much wanted to die too.

But then the kind guard had come to her one night, and told her that the girl she loved had woken up and would be okay.

So there was this big trial now, and prison loomed, and maybe even the death penalty. But she could still look into those eyes – across a courtroom, across a prison, hell, across the whole world if she had to – and know they were looking back at her, and her alone.

Oh, right. She'd been asked a question.

"We started robbing people because we were really hungry, and it was dangerous to go to a motel or whatever. Cities were out, too. We had camping gear, but Rachel's car is pretty small so we had to keep stocking up on food. And like, we didn't want to shoot anyone, we just wanted candy and more soup. Well, they wanted more soup. I hate soup. I don't really understand what it is. Is it food? Is it a drink? It's like vomit. Like, you eat it and your body doesn't have to do anything to it to make it into vomit. I just don't get why people like it."

* * *

><p>Rachel couldn't believe Finn Hudson was sitting there watching. What was he even doing there? And sitting with Sue Sylvester? This was mortifying. There was no way she would attend a murder trial if he were the – well, once upon a time she would've dutifully attended, dressed in her best Jackie O outfit and weeping his innocence from the galley. Was it still called a galley?<p>

She would _not_ attend simply to view such an occasion for – why was he there? He had offered no support, and was sitting with a woman who had helped vindicate them in the eyes of the –

Perhaps it was the power of love, or the fact that Quinn was looking so upset during this entire thing, but she couldn't understand what she had seen in the boy, all of a sudden. Sure, he had a nice face and had been sweet but he – he was just so _stupid_.

"- your vehicle, Miss Berry. Can you tell the court why you offered a personal belonging of yours to assist in three girls who – as we understand from witness accounts and their own words – were not direct friends of yours?"

Rachel concentrated on the woman's face for a moment, before her eyes inevitably slid to look over at Quinn.

God, she looked so beautiful, even now.

She had to make this good.

"There was a history of animosity between us, that is correct. However, I challenge you not to find the same between all teenage girl groups. At some point or another, we fight. We squabble – if you will – about the most ridiculous of issues because we are still growing up, and we are taught to elevate ourselves among each other to stand out. High School is about learning, that is true, but one of the lessons I learned very early on was that it wasn't about learning together, it was more of a competition over who could learn what first. About sex, for example, or love. Who could get on the honor roll, or learn how to score a touchdown first. You had to fight to stay ahead, under this misguided idea that if you didn't, your adult life would be a failure."

The lawyer opened her mouth to speak, but Rachel quickly continued.

"What we should learn is that – is that if you were to drop a naked human in the middle of a forest, regardless of their intellect or prowess or popularity, at the end of a week or so you will have one dead naked human. If you, however, drop a group of naked humans in a forest, at the end of that same period of time they will have taken over."

There were titters from the around the courtroom, and she felt her cheeks flush as she realized Finn was trying not to giggle. Honestly.

"We need each other. We just do. In an environment of competition yes, we weren't known for our friendship. But in one of survival, of having no one but each other? I don't know if anyone in this room other than the four of us will ever experience it, but it changes you. It changes how you see each other. Our friendship and – and love," there were Quinn's eyes, now gazing at her with such a look behind them that it stopped her voice for a moment. "Was not there at first. But just because it isn't there in the beginning, doesn't mean it can't be."

"And it was this love and friendship that spurred the four of you to kill?"

"No, absolutely not. It was that love and friendship that spurred the four of us to do whatever it took to stay together. If I may offer a quote from Mother Teresa that I feel is appropriate to the court – she says, 'If there is no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.' That's all there is, really. We belong to each other, I don't know how else to –"

Was Quinn crying? She was smiling too, but all the same Rachel wanted to break the shackles off her feet so she could go to the girl and wipe away her tears. To tell her of her love, that she _was_ loved. More deeply than she had ever felt in her life.

* * *

><p>Well, this was it. Quinn was in the witness stand. Now was her chance to take full responsibility for the whole damn mess.<p>

Well, most of it anyway. The other three had gone up first and accepted fault for a lot of it, and that just wasn't right. And the death penalty was still on the table.

Still, listening to the other three speak had done something to her heart. In all the anticipated doom and gloom, there was still that little ray of hope. Because they didn't blame her, even now, even with the rest of their lives completely ruined and possibly over entirely.

Friends. Real friends. More than she'd ever hoped to have.

"I know that it's my fault that they got involved. I accept that. I should've turned myself in at the beginning, and just taken full responsibility. I know that too. I can't say why I didn't, but I just – I panicked. We all did. There are – I'm not blaming the media or movies or whatever, but most of them just show everybody getting caught and going to jail and that's the end, you know? That's the point. They have to get caught, and that's it for them. Or they die. So I – I didn't want it to be the end yet. I was seventeen, my life was meant to be beginning and instead I felt like – I felt like it was ending. I had felt that, for a while, to be honest. But I don't – I'm not someone who just lies down and lets it happen. So I fought against it, I fled, and I – I tried to hold off the end, and the end of my – my friends too. It was wrong, I know it was wrong, and I am so, so sorry."

She looked over the jury, over the audience, even to the judge as she spoke. But her words were for the three girls sitting in front of her, separated by lawyers, and not allowed to turn and look at each other. She looked at them, now, each in turn.

When her eyes met Rachel's, they stayed there.

"But I'm not sorry that we found what we did with each other. I wish people hadn't died, I really do. But what I feel – what I feel now? I wouldn't trade anything for it. Not anything."

O-O


	10. Part 5b

"All right girlie, you're in here with Rose here. Watch her, okay? She's a nasty one, that. But we've got you together because you've got a lot in common." The guard chuckled as she gestured into the small cell. "What with your race and all, and your murder business."

Santana stepped gingerly into the cell, eyes watering slightly at the stench. Fucking hell. Prison.

Rose, or whatever her name was, lay on the bottom bunk reading a book. As the guard spoke, she rolled her eyes and flipped her off.

Well, Santana could understand that reaction.

"Thanks," she mumbled, leaning up onto her toes to look at the top bunk suspiciously. The mattress was stained a little, but was clean for the most part.

"Sleep tight, girlies!" The guard called out, shutting the door with a bang and twisting a key in the lock.

"Hey," Santana offered, wondering if this was about to turn into one of those movies where she got like, raped or beaten up by a gang leader or something. She felt sick.

"Hey," the girl responded easily, continuing to read her book.

Okay, she could handle that. Hell, maybe they _were_ similar outside of the narrow minded shit the guard had said.

She put her things on the sink in the cell, and reached up for the folded sheets on the top bunk. Might as well make her bed, she figured, and lay in it.

* * *

><p>"Attention, inmates! We got here a little fishy for y'all to play with. Her name is Brittany, and I hear she's real flexible!" The guard laughed at her own joke, as Brittany peered around her body at the seven girls cramped into the room.<p>

Hey, prison wasn't so bad. This was like cheerleader camp.

"Hi!" She waved, smiling brightly at the other women, who all scowled at her.

The guard kept chuckling as she closed the door.

"Break her in, bitches!"

"What does that mean?" Brittany asked as the guard walked away, and one of the women stood up. She was tall – really tall – and had cornrows in her hair.

"She means we should teach you who's boss, that's what she means." The woman's voice was a low rumble as she stepped towards the blonde.

"Oh, who is the boss? Because I'm new, and like, if there's a boss that's cool." Brittany shrugged, moving in and looking at the bunks in the dorm style room. She finally found a free top bunk, and that was awesome because she loved the top.

There was silence from the other women in the room, until they all suddenly burst into laughter.

The tall woman with corn rows shook her head, and extended her hand.

"Name's Monique. And you're one of those girls off the teevee, right? Got everyone's tits in a twist on the news and shit?"

Brittany shook the hand vigorously, nodding and smiling.

"Yep, that was me and my friends. Quinn – she's in like, the worst locked up place here – and Rachel – she's over in some other building but I think it's like this one – and Santana. San is somewhere else, too." Her smile fell off her face as she imagined the other girl in the room with her, here, and how they could share a bed if they were together, and keep each other warm.

Monique nodded thoughtfully.

"Tell you what, Fishy, I kind of like you. You ain't one of them snooty white bitches like we thought you would be. And the guards in here? Shit, half of them are worse than the inmates. Fuck them, you feelin' me?"

Brittany sighed deeply, glad that she was liked.

"I'm feelin' you, yeah. But can my name be Ducky instead of Fishy? I like ducks so much better."

She wasn't sure why they all started laughing, but she joined in anyway. This wasn't so bad, after all.

* * *

><p>Rachel was trying not to hyperventilate. This was not how her life plan was meant to go. What was wrong with her? She'd gone and <em>killed<em> people? She was ready to vomit. Or pass out. In the name of all that was holy, she was in _prison_.

Every prison scene from every movie and television show she had watched – and she had seen a _lot_ in her friendless youth – played out in her mind. She wouldn't shower, she just wouldn't. She would refuse on the grounds of privacy and a desire not to be raped when she picked up the –

Oh God, she prayed as she was led to her cell, please don't let me ever, ever drop any soap in any situation. Perhaps she would forego soap entirely? She wondered if she could get shower lotion in prison? Dropping that didn't require one to bend over and pick it up, after all.

She tried to calm her racing heart, she truly did. But here she was in a jumpsuit, being lead by a _prison_ guard, to her _cell_.

She was wrong. Oh God, she was so wrong. She should've driven to the nearest police station, not embark on a road trip of criminal acts!

She was – she was about to pass out – she could feel –

"You're in here, small fry. Grab that bunk over there, and get yourself settled in." The guard looked at her kindly, his expression one of sympathy. "Listen, it ain't so bad in here I promise. Just get settled in, and then we'll see about getting you set up in one of your programs, okay?"

Rachel was trembling violently. Programs? What programs? Did he mean gangs? Oh God, what if there were a tribe of ultra white neo-Nazis in here who would shiv her as soon as she stepped foot in the yard?

"Who's this?"

It was an inmate speaking! A criminal! She wasn't one of them!

"Her name is Rachel, poor little thing. Listen, Janice, can you show her around? Tell her about some of the programs we got on offer, you know, maybe the tapestry program, or wildlife? You like animals, sweetie?"

Rachel blinked, ready to throw her belongings on the ground and run screaming in the opposite direction. But wait, what?

"An – animals?"

The inmate – Janice – smiled kindly, nodding her head. She was in her thirties, and had long red hair pulled into a plait.

"Oh honey yes, they like to focus on rehabilitation here. There's college courses, and all kinds of things to get your skills up for when you get out of here –" she put her arm around the trembling girl, gently guiding her into the room as the guard smiled at them both.

"Sleep tight, ladies."

"When I get out of here?" Rachel was fairly certain that wasn't an option.

"Sure! Or you know, just to pass the time. Whatever you like, sweetie. Hey, you like music? They've got open mike nights over there in the rec hall once a week, and every month we have our own American Idol –"

Rachel felt her heart rate calming substantially. She wasn't being raped, and this kind and lovely woman was talking about –

"American Idol?"

Well, she'd never seen _that_ in the movies, that was for sure.

* * *

><p>The door slammed closed behind her.<p>

The guard had barely said a word, either. Just shown her to the little cell she supposed was now her home, and shut the door behind her.

It wasn't too bad, she mused. Kind of what she thought a college room would be like. Except the toilet didn't have a door, and there were bars on the window.

But there was a little shelf, and a bed.

She wondered if there was a library somewhere in the prison, and whether she'd be allowed to visit it.

She'd get one hour everyday for exercise, but other than that, she had to stay in her cell by herself.

Well, Quinn mused, she was used to be being by herself. It would just be like her childhood all over again.

O-O

"Where you from?"

Santana looked around her for a moment, before turning back to her cellmate.

They were seated at a table in the cafeteria, and so far the only thing Rose had said to her was 'Hey'. That morning, she'd simply followed the girl around like a lost puppy because she wasn't sure what the fuck else to do with herself.

"Lima."

Rose snorted.

"What a shit hole."

Santana nodded, shrugging her shoulders.

"You?"

"Grew up in Columbus. My sister is still there, but the rest of the family is gone. My brother's up in Chicago."

Santana exhaled a breath, wondering where Brittany was, at that very moment. Somewhere close by, surely.

But not close enough.

"Big family?"

Rose chewed the rest of her mouthful slowly, before swallowing.

"Yeah, you can say that. You?"

"Not really. I have a brother but he – well, none of them are talking to me anymore, so."

Rose shrugged, pushing more eggs onto her fork. Or what were meant to be eggs, anyway. Santana was ready to starve herself rather than eat this shit. She wondered if they had burger nights in jail.

"Sometimes your family is your blood, and sometimes your family is your love. They can be both, but they don't have to be."

Santana uncrossed her arms, her jaw tensing as she thought about Brittany. And Quinn.

And Rachel.

"So uh, what are you in for?"

Rose continued to eat.

"Murder."

"Oh, right. Yeah that guard said that – you're not really much of a talker, are you?"

At this, Rose chuckled.

"I say only what needs to be said. But you, you say a lot of things, don't you? That could be useful, one day."

Santana picked up a piece of toast off her plate, squinting at one of its sides. Was that mould?

"Yeah well, it hasn't been so far."

Rose only smiled.

* * *

><p>"Okay, so then you move your leg like this, see." Brittany lifted her leg up until her foot was pointing above her head.<p>

Monique stared at it, her jaw dropping open, as did the other women.

"No way in hell I'm doing that without ripping my vagina in half! What the fuck?"

The women started laughing, as Brittany rolled her eyes.

"Hey, I can teach you guys how to do it. I promise. We'll take those bitches over in Hale, they won't know what hit 'em!"

The women all nodded at each other encouragingly, and began trying to lift their legs up as high as they could.

Brittany was so proud of them. They were so lucky that a girl with her dance training had been assigned to their room. The next dance off at open mike night?

It was _theirs_.

* * *

><p>"Jesus, you can sing!" Janice yelled as she clapped her hands, standing from her seat as others followed.<p>

Rachel blushed, bowing slightly, and turning to leave the microphone. Her rendition of Katy Perry's _Firework_ had been a hit in Glee, but that was nothing compared to the reaction she was getting from the women seated in front of her.

"Sing another!" A voice called out.

"Please don't stop!" Someone else joined in.

"More! More!" The crowd chanted.

Rachel felt like crying. In this sea of misfit women, she had become their hero.

"This next song is dedicated to all of you, and to my friends, who I wish could be here tonight." She cleared her throat, leaning over to the woman who had offered to play guitar for her.

The woman laughed, and nodded.

She turned to her audience, and hoped above anything, that Quinn could hear her, wherever she was.

"_Just a small town girl, living in a lonely world, she took the midnight train going anywhere..._"

* * *

><p>Quinn turned the page, her mind lost within the pages of the book that had been delivered to her that morning by an inmate with a trolley full of them. She'd been a bit dubious at the title, '<em>Flowers In The Attic'<em>, but God was she engrossed in the terrible, tragic story.

She leant her head against the windowsill, her ear resting on the ledge.

Faintly, she could hear music coming from somewhere. And a voice that –

She threw the book down, scrambling onto her knees and pressing her head against the bars on the window.

She could hear Rachel. She knew it was that voice.

She'd listened to that voice for three years. Had mocked it for longer.

She closed her eyes, unable to make out the words.

But she didn't need them. Just hearing her was enough.

Enough to rip her out of the book; out of the jail cell; and throw her back to the best night of her life.

She had been determined not to cry. Had promised herself that she wouldn't. They could throw her in jail and leave her to rot in a tiny room for the rest of her life.

But they wouldn't make her cry.

And they still wouldn't.

It was just Rachel, that was all. Reaching into her heart, and reminding her she was there.

O-O

"I didn't do it." Rose whispered, and Santana barely heard her.

Lights out had been called an hour ago, but Santana couldn't sleep. Kept tossing and turning, because it had been a month now and she still hadn't seen Brittany. Like, fuck, they were in the _same_ prison. So what if they were separated, she thought they'd have at least caught a glimpse of each other by now.

She'd gone to the open mike night or whatever – though it was only the other level three's, and they had spent most of the time singing heart breaking fucking crap music that made her want to commit _another_ act of murder.

It just wasn't fair, okay? She had been _shot_, and nearly _died_. Wasn't that enough? Did they have to keep Brittany from her, too?

"Do what?" Santana whispered back, leaning over the edge of the bunk and letting her hair fall around her face.

She couldn't make Rose out in the bunk beneath her, but at least it would be easier to hear her like this.

"Kill that guy. I didn't do it."

Santana blinked for a few moments, wondering where the sudden opening up was coming from. She'd got bits and pieces from Rose so far, but their conversations hadn't really gone in depth or anything. For the most part, she followed her around because people seemed to automatically part for Rose, like she was Moses or some shit.

Santana could respect that.

"What happened?"

"Cleo, she got caught up in some shit. Drugs and shit. It was my fault, you know? I left her in Columbus, went to my brother to deal with some business, and in my absence she – anyway. I took the rap. Here I am."

Santana frowned. She knew Cleo was Rose's younger sister, but why the sudden heart to heart?

"Okay, so _why_ take the rap for something you didn't do?"

Rose sat up, her head now not far from Santana's.

"Because of love. Listen, if that Brittany chick you talk about – would you take the rap for her?

"Yeah." She didn't even pause, wondering where this was going.

"What else would you do for her? Risk your life?"

"Yeah." Again, she didn't pause. She didn't have to.

"You do anything to see her again?"

"_Yeah_." Seriously, it wasn't rocket science.

"Good to know." Rose answered, lying back down.

Santana frowned because, what the fuck?

"What was the –"

"Just sleep, my friend."

Santana pulled herself back onto her bed, gritting her teeth because this cryptic shit with her cellmate was starting to do her head in. They'd start talking about, like, something random that came out of nowhere. And all of a sudden Rose would start firing questions at her, and then just stop.

Whatever.

She rolled over, and closed her eyes. She conjured up a smile she hadn't seen in too long, and hoped to God – or whoever – that she'd dream about Brittany all night long.

Her final thought was, actually, yeah. She would risk her life to see her again. This imprisoned shit was whatever, and if it was endless? Fuck that.

One more moment with Brittany, however brief, was worth anything.

* * *

><p>"Listen, LaFresia, you are totally sweet and really hot, but my heart belongs to somebody else." Brittany shrugged her shoulders, hoping the woman in front of her – who was becoming a really good friend – wouldn't be too hurt.<p>

"Girl, I don't want your heart. I was just talking about a little something something, you know?" She leant towards the blonde, raising her eyebrows.

"I would totally go for that if this was, like, two years ago. But I," she reached out a hand, laying it on LaFresia's shoulder. "The person who has my heart – Santana – she has everything else too."

LaFresia sighed, before shrugging her shoulders.

"Look, I can respect that. Outside these walls? My everything belongs to my husband. It's just going to be a fucking long time till I'll see his ass again, and a girl can't help it when she's horny. And you, baby girl, are the prettiest thing in here." She smiled, as Brittany laughed.

"Well, if it weren't for San, you would totally be my first choice for a sex buddy. But I just –" it wasn't that it was hard to say, but it was the first time she'd really felt it as truth. "Even if I never have sex again for the rest of my life, I can handle that. It's not the same with anybody else."

LaFresia shook her head, stepping forward to hug the girl she'd propositioned and been rejected by.

"Well here's to praying your ass gets laid before you die, girl. And this Santana chick – I seen her on the news, she is _hot_ – that bitch is the luckiest woman alive, okay?"

Brittany hugged LaFresia tightly, missing the way Santana used to fit in her arms. She was close by, she could feel it, just over the way in another building. They shared the same food, the same recreation space, just not at the same times. She wondered if she could somehow leave a message, because even if she couldn't talk to or see her, she had to communicate with her somehow.

It was too hard, and it was making her too sad. Sure, she had the dance classes, and she'd joined a prison gang. She was enrolled to get her GED, and there were classes on offer that seemed like they might be fun. One was called, 'Thinking For A Change' and that seemed like a good thing to learn.

But it hurt to spend day after day laughing with her crew, and unable to slip her hand inside Santana's and know she was there.

She'd do anything, she thought, to see her again.

* * *

><p>Rachel sighed, giving the women in her group a small smile as they bounced a basketball back and forth between them. It wasn't that she was against physical activities or sports, more that the days were beginning to blend into one long, repetitive day, and there seemed to be no end to it.<p>

She'd imagined prison would be a horrible place, filled with vicious criminals and violent acts. And sure, she'd seen two women get into a physical fight in the cafeteria one day, and had been appalled when they'd been marched back to their cells and searched. She wasn't sure the correlation between the two acts; it seemed more a threatening, invasive act than one with a point.

But she hadn't realized that it would become like some eternal day she couldn't get away from. People needed change, and challenges, she mused. And there wasn't much of that on the inside.

She was finishing her GED, which was something. She was on the waitlist to join the wildlife program, hoping it would involve actual contact with animals. She'd frequented the library, reading about the history of the prison and marveling at the amount of riots and break outs it had experienced. Not in recent times, though. And the reason it was called a farm was _not_ because the people inside were considered animals – as she had first taken offense to – but because it used to function as an actual farm.

Her eyes turned to the buildings surrounding the recreation area. In one of those buildings was Quinn. Somewhere, in a small cell of some kind, she was at this very moment doing – well, she had no idea. Perhaps she was reading? She remembered the blonde had an avid fascination with literature when they were in Glee Club together.

God, that was so long ago now.

Or perhaps she was in the cafeteria? Or the library – was she even allowed in the library? She'd probed Janice's mind for information on the different security levels, and who was allowed where.

It was something akin to heart break – or food poisoning – to hear that there was no chance she'd ever just run into Quinn – or anyone from level four – one day coincidentally.

"What you looking at, kid?"

She turned to the voice, seeing a woman from her cell – Mary – smiling at her and bouncing a ball.

"I was just wondering which building was level four?" She pushed herself off the wall she was resting on, and looked at the woman hopefully.

Mary dribbled the ball a few more times, before turning and pointing at the furthest building from the yard.

"That's C-Corridor. All the level fours and death row are up in there. My sister's up there, you know. I go see her sometimes, take up the book trolley and whatever."

Rachel blinked, her heart jumping into her throat.

"Do you see Quinn Fabray? Do you know her?"

The woman laughed, squinting at her through the bright sunlight.

"She's the young blonde one, right? Real quiet, soft voice, got them eyes that are like – shit I don't know. Looking into your soul or some crap, right?"

Rachel began to walk hurriedly toward the woman, putting her hands up for the ball. Mary bent her knees a little more, catching the ball, and bouncing it toward Rachel.

"That's her."

"Yeah, I drop her books all the time. Little thing reads like crazy. She's one of your friends, right? Went on that killing spree together?"

Rachel nodded furiously.

"Could you – could you tell her something? From me? We're not allowed to – we're meant to stay separated, so –"

Mary just shrugged.

"Sure, whatever. Won't be the first time I sent a message for someone. But uh, no offense kid, what's in it for me?"

"Do you like to sing? I've seen you at the open mike nights a lot, you –" she could see her now, sitting in the audience, mouthing along to the words as Rachel sang them. "Seem to enjoy music."

Mary nodded, catching the ball and standing up straight.

"Yeah?"

"Well, I would offer you singing lessons, if you liked, as payment for your messaging services."

"Singing lessons, huh? For risking my ass delivering your message? Thanks, kid, but no thanks. A horse got a better singing voice than me." Mary went to turn away, basketball clutched in her hands.

"Wait! That's preposterous, _everybody_ can sing given enough time, care and attention. A voice is not born, it is made. Yes, some people have natural talent – myself included – but nothing worth anything comes without trying, without –" she stepped forward, feeling her voice fill with desperation. "Practice. I can help you, I promise."

Mary paused.

"All right, let's try this singing shit, and I'll deliver your message. And also? You'll get me two packs of smokes for every message I deliver to your little girlfriend."

Rachel nodded furiously, unsure how she'd even _get_ cigarettes, but willing to do just about anything.

Mary winked at her, relaxing back into her previous stance, and bouncing the ball to Rachel.

"What do you want to say, kid?"

* * *

><p>The ceiling on her cell was actually kind of interesting. It was covered in tiny dots – was it the pattern? Crappy design? – and she was pretty close to being able to calculate how many dots were up there.<p>

She'd cut it into sixteen squares, she approximated, and if she could get a count on the amount of dots in one square, and multiply it by sixteen, boom. She'd know how many dots were up there.

Well, roughly.

What would she do with that knowledge? She wasn't quite sure. But at least she'd stop wondering. She'd stop looking up at it for so many hours of every day and wondering just how many fucking dots were up there.

She sat up quickly, losing count. She could hear the book trolley.

She went to her door, waiting patiently for the long flap in the middle to creak open, and books to be passed through.

"Hey, you Quinn?" A sotto voice asked.

She frowned.

"Yes?" She said at normal volume, ducking down when the voice made a shushing sound.

"I got a message for you from the Diva. Pass me your books so we can keep talking."

Quinn blinked, reaching for the three books she'd gotten the previous week. The who?

"Okay?" She passed the books through, catching glimpses of someone's hands slowly tucking them into the trolley.

"She misses you. Thinks about you all the time. She says, don't stop believing, and says you should read this –"

A book was pushed through the slot. Quinn squinted at the title, '_A Guide To Traveling On The Astro Plane'_. She wanted to roll her eyes, but found they were tearing instead. She laughed softly. God, Rachel.

" – and she hopes it works, because she's losing her mind without you."

Quinn's jaw dropped, and she hugged the book to her chest. Rachel had touched this book, had chosen it especially for her. It could've been about homosexual cannibals in space who existed on a diet of abortions, and she still would've treasured it.

"Tell her," she whispered, voice hoarse. "Tell her thank you, and I miss her too, and –" she wanted to include love, but it felt wrong saying it to someone else, and having it delivered as a message. "I think about her every single moment."

The slot shut, and she heard the trolley creaking as it was pushed away.

Once again, she dissolved into tears. This was so unfair.

She looked at the book title again. She hoped to God it worked.

O-O

"Listen, you with your little political groups out there fighting for your asses and shit, you're lucky. They _still_ talking about you on the news. I'm just saying, it could be used to our advantage." Rose lifted the weight in her hands, as Santana frowned at her and watched.

"All right, look, you've got my attention and shit. But what I need to know is, _how_?"

Rose lifted the weight again, smirking.

"I don't know yet, but I've got a good feeling about you."

"Great," Santana muttered with an eye roll. "Well, let's hope we can get out of here based on our _feelings_."

Rose snorted.

"Look, the reason you were caught? You had nowhere to go, no one to help you. Me? I can help you. But you gotta help me, too."

"Enough with the cryptic shit! What is your point? Lay it out for me, because I'm seriously starting to get annoyed with all this –"

"My _point_ is, when the time comes, you are going to get me out of here. When you do, I am going to make sure your ass is _never_ found. I got contacts, okay?"

"Yeah right, you've got some _club_ or whatever on the outside –"

"Do the Latin Kings ring a bell?"

Santana stopped speaking, mouth hanging open. No _fucking_ way.

"No fucking way!"

Rose just shrugged, dropped the weight, and reached up to grab her collar and push it to the side. On her chest, above her right breast, was a tattoo of the letters 'ALKQN'.

"You help me, I help you."

Santana just nodded, feeling the blood rush from her face. Holy shit. She was _so_ glad she hadn't slapped Rose, at any point, for being cryptic.

Fuck knew she'd wanted to.

She gave the other woman a tight smile as she resumed lifting weights with a smirk on her face.

Santana turned, then, taking deep breaths. But something caught her eye, and she frowned.

There, near the wall of one of the buildings, was a bunch of white rocks that had crumbled off the side of it. And low on the wall was, what looked like, writing?

'I miss you. Just so you know. Love, Ducky'

It couldn't be, could it? And shit, there were tears in her eyes and everything. It couldn't be Brittany, there was no way.

She picked up one of the rocks anyway, looking over her shoulder as the guard on duty turned his back on them and started gesturing at a group of women who had started throwing the basketball to each other a lot harder than what was deemed friendly.

'Every second of every day. I love you. Always, Queerio'

It was the best she could think of on the spot. She just hoped, if it was Brittany, she'd know.

* * *

><p>Brittany skipped toward the wall where she'd left her message, hoping today would be the day she'd get a reply. It had been over a week already. Maybe Santana wasn't using the work out area?<p>

And there it was.

She squealed, jumping up and down.

"Hey!" One of the guards yelled, and Brittany quickly did a cartwheel. She stood up, jumped up and down again, and then smiled at the guard.

"Give me a J! A! I! L! Go jail!"

The guard frowned, shook her head, and turned around.

Well, it was probably too dangerous to write on the wall right now. But she had words from Santana, and love. It felt incredible.

"What you so happy about?" Geminique grumbled, pumping iron and scowling at the muscles in her arms.

"I got a message from San!" Brittany gushed, smiling so brightly that Geminique almost returned it.

"You get one of the janitors to pass it on or some shit?"

Brittany frowned.

"No, I wrote it on the wall." She pointed behind her, and Geminique dropped the weight as she let out a full belly laugh.

"Girl! Oh my God! I swear this place was nowhere _near_ as hilarious before your ass got here. You don't write shit on walls!"

Brittany frowned.

"Well, how do you get messages to people?"

"Ever heard of bribery? Shit girl, with that look on your face I'd about do it for free. Listen, I know someone who can get your messages across, okay? Don't write on no fucking prison walls."

Brittany blinked, sitting on the weight bench across from the woman who had resumed pumping iron.

"Thanks, Gem."

"I got a friend of mine, she mops the place and shit. Name's Dominique, okay? You pay her in smokes, and she's yours."

"But smoking is bad."

"Yeah, and cigarettes are the biggest form of currency in here. I swear to God, girl, I don't know how you got by on the outside."

Brittany pouted slightly.

"I had Santana."

Geminique nodded her head, offering the blonde another smile.

"And now you got us, Ducky."

* * *

><p>Rachel took a deep breath, looking at the building she'd been told Quinn was in. Most of the windows, though barred, were open.<p>

Here went nothing.

"_I dreamed a dream in time gone by, when hope was high and life worth living_,"

She sang as loudly as she could, hoping it was enough to carry her voice into the windows above.

Behind her, she didn't notice as her fellow inmates stopped what they were doing and turned to look at her. Some were frowning, and others were looking at each other in confusion.

"_I dreamed that love would never die, I dreamed that God would be forgiving,_"

She hadn't really thought meeting on the astro plane would work. But at this point, she was willing to try anything.

She continued to sing, her voice lifting and growing stronger with every word.

Behind her, even the guards had stopped what they were doing, and simply watched as the tiny girl unleashed the loudest voice they'd ever heard.

* * *

><p>Quinn had her hand clasped to her heart as she listened to Rachel sing. She couldn't see her, no matter how hard she tried to peer through the bars of the window. But there was that voice – as clear as day.<p>

It took her back to the first time she'd woken up with the girl wrapped around her body. Back to the first moment she'd thought of kissing her – as Santana and Brittany had moaned in the background and she'd been so sexually frustrated she'd almost mounted Rachel's flashlight.

And then when she _had _kissed Rachel. When she'd pressed her mouth against her, and felt like – like nothing mattered. Like everything mattered. Even in the middle of the worst experience of her life, she had her best.

Her eyes slipped closed, as Rachel continued to sing.

"_No song unsung, no wine untasted,_"

The night in the motel had been the most she had ever felt in her life.

Part of her had wanted to handle the moment properly. Find flowers, or light some candles, or _anything_ even vaguely romantic. But they hadn't thought to steal those, and the bushes surrounding the motel had been void of flowers.

And then she'd remembered what Santana had said – don't over think it. Just feel.

So she'd walked back into the motel room, and gently cupped Rachel's face, and pressed her mouth against her. They had kissed slowly, at first, dragging their lips over each other's, pressing closer each time. Quinn had tentatively pushed her tongue into the other girl's mouth, unable to hold back her moan at how good it felt.

She'd french kissed before, sure, but not like that. Not so gently, and so – what had Rachel said later? That it was erotic.

She laughed, now, with the memory. After the first time, they had lay there facing each other, and Quinn had _almost_ buried her face in the pillow just to escape, well, everything. The way Rachel had been looking at her, like all of a sudden there was nothing else.

Nothing but that room, and that moment.

And then Rachel had leant over, and kissed her again. She'd pushed the blonde onto her back, and straddled her waist, already grinding down.

Quinn's eyes opened as she felt the heat rising to her face. She'd never thought it would be like Santana and Brittany. With all those moans and cries like what they were doing was so intense they were just helpless to do nothing else but enjoy it.

She wasn't sure, really, what was worse. Never having it, or having it briefly, and missing it for the rest of her life.

"_I had a dream my life would be, so different from this hell I'm living, so different now from what it seems, now life has killed the dream I dream..._"

Rachel's voice faded away, and Quinn all but let out a sob at its absence.

She hadn't allowed herself to remember that night since she'd been imprisoned. Had kept it in a safe place, far from things like prison guards and toilets without walls. She had distracted herself with books; with watching the television on the bottom floor in the guard's compartment, that they turned up for a few hours at night so the level four inmates could hear the news and whatever was on.

Had buried it away, to keep it safe.

But fuck that. Here it was, at the forefront of her mind, and damn it. She wanted it back. She wanted Rachel back. She wanted to feel again, and say, to hell with all of it. There are some things you should never give up fighting for.

She didn't know how she would do it. But there was something stirring in the back of her mind, and when the book trolley came by the following day, she would have a message of her own to send.

O-O

"And she's got friends in Lincoln?" Rose puffed, dribbling the basketball before bouncing it toward another inmate.

Santana didn't really know what she was doing, but kept her arms up and her body bumping into Rose's.

"Yeah, that Dominique chick said she's practically got her own fanclub. Rachel too. Something about singing and winning American Idol or some shit. I don't know."

Rose kept her eyes on the ball, smiling at Santana's words.

"And your girl up on death row is in?"

Santana caught the ball as it came towards her, bouncing it a few times, before sending it back to the woman who had thrown it at her.

"She ain't on death row, but yeah. She thinks we can get our old coach – Sue Sylvester, you know, _Sue's World_ or whatever the fuck it's called now – as the bait."

Rose stood up straight, her eyes widening.

"You are shitting me."

Santana shook her head smugly, catching the ball effortlessly as Rose's teammate threw her hands up in frustration.

"For fuck's sake, Rose!"

Rose just waved her off, though, watching as Santana took a jump shot, sinking the ball easily.

"Listen, you tell her to get that shit live. Okay? This is – we can do this. You just need to work on a code word, or some shit."

Santana frowned slightly, then shrugged.

It was a ridiculous plan. There was so much margin for error she almost wanted to call the whole thing off. But she'd missed Brittany's eighteenth birthday, and Brittany had missed hers. Hell, they would miss _every_ birthday from here on out.

That shit wasn't cool. So fuck it. If they died, they would die in each other's arms.

And if that wasn't the sappiest, most romantic shit she had ever thought, she didn't know what else was.

But she was certain of one thing, in this whole crazy shit. Sue Sylvester had ridden their asses to stardom, having the time of her life while they suffered. Yeah, she watched her stupid show every week, but lately it had become less about swearing at the television and more about figuring out a way to pay that bitch back.

And then some.

* * *

><p>"So, what do you think?" Brittany dealt the women two cards a piece, and threw in a cigarette to the centre of the table.<p>

They looked at their cards, and then each other.

"I'm in." Monique said easily, throwing in a cigarette.

"Me too." Geminique nodded, adding her own cigarette to the pile.

"You just give us the signal, girl, and we'll have your back." LaFresia smiled, throwing in a cigarette and then shaking her head in wonder.

All eyes turned to Dominique.

"How are you going to get the guns? Don't get me wrong, yo, this plan is tight. But how are you going to get guns? 'Cause without them, you ain't got nothing."

Brittany's brow furrowed, as she bit her lip.

"I don't know. But Q, and San will. They'll figure it out. I just have to bring the muscle."

Dominique shrugged, picking up a cigarette and holding it in front of Brittany's face.

"Well, I might just pay them a visit. And if they say what I want to hear?" She shrugged, tossing the smoke onto the table. "I'm in."

* * *

><p>"I know, Janice, that the life you have found here is a pleasant one, so I understand if you feel any hesitation with what, I believe, will be happening in a month or so." Rachel wrung her hands together, as the women around her looked at each other.<p>

"And how do you know none of us are going to snitch?" Janice eyed the nervous girl with an unreadable expression on her face.

"I don't." Rachel answered simply. "If we get caught, or it doesn't work, we'll face the consequences along with everyone else. I believe we will be the ones risking the most, and as such, there is no reason to snitch, as it were. Also, our target is a woman that, it's safe to say, every woman in this prison has some kind of issue with. We all watch her show, though more often than not I find I am not the only one yelling at the screen, nor am I the loudest."

A stocky woman with cropped blonde hair snickered.

"She's a cocky bitch, that's for sure."

"And you all have the prerogative to not join in on the riot when it occurs. And it will occur. I have been assured that our fellow level two's will be helping start the riot, a long with some level three's. Level four is out, automatically, as they'll be locked in their cells. So really, it's up to you ladies, some of whom I understand are among the level one's, and thus will be set free shortly."

Janice chewed on one of her fingernails.

"And if it works, and you get out, what about the rest of us?"

"That is up to you. Whether you remain on prison grounds to serve the rest of your sentence, or make a run for your lives, it is up to you. It's part of your freedom – the right to choose."

"I'm in." The stocky woman called out, and the women around her nodded.

Janice sighed, then smiled brightly.

"Fuck it all to hell!"

Rachel felt like crying, as the women around her began whooping. A few guards came running over and demanded the group break up, but Rachel still couldn't wipe the smile off her face.

"You just let me know, and we'll be ready." Janice whispered, offering her a wink before throwing her hands up at a guard. "We're moving already, calm your tits, Sally!"

The rest was up to Quinn.

* * *

><p>"Q!" Sue smiled, leaning forward on her arms and clutching the telephone receiver to her cheek.<p>

"Coach." Quinn murmured, watching through the glass as Sue Sylvester beamed at her.

"It's been a long time, Q, and I have to say, seeing you behind bars is both heartening and disappointing."

"I feel the same about being behind bars."

Sue chuckled.

"Now, a little birdy told me you've been thinking about my offer. Well, how about it? You, me, the entire nation hanging onto our every word?"

Quinn leant forward, pretending to deliberate.

"I would say, yes. But then I was thinking, Coach."

Sue's expression fell slightly.

"Do tell, Q."

"Well, I think if you interviewed me and put it on your show, it'd get some pretty good ratings. But what if you interviewed, oh I don't know, Santana as well? Brittany? Even Rachel?"

She watched as Sue's eyebrow raised in thought, hoping against anything that she could sell this.

"You know, Q, your attention to detail regarding my ratings is impressive. But I can't help but ask what you would get out of having your friends steal some of your spotlight."

"Well, you could interview us at the same time."

Sue just scoffed.

"You aren't allowed to be in the same room together, or have you forgotten that little byline in your sentence? You're losing your touch, Q, I have to say I'm leaning more toward disappointment right now."

But Quinn just smiled.

"Sue Sylvester? Unable to get around a little thing like a byline? I think you're the one losing her touch, Coach. It's a pity too – you'd be the envy of the journalism world if you managed to interview all four of us at once. Especially if you did it _live_."

Sue squinted her eyes, before laughing suddenly.

"There you are, Q! Still alive and thriving even behind bars. Even now, despite your incarceration and doomed future, you still remind me of a young Sue Sylvester."

Quinn laughed in return, batting her eyelashes. Sue had been saying that for so long now, all Quinn could really think in return, was:

Sue _wished_ a younger version of her had been _anything_ like Quinn.

O-O


	11. Part 5c

Brittany sat down in the chair on the end of the row, smiling at the guard as he unlocked her handcuffs.

"Thanks!" She said, gasping when she saw Finn and Sue across the room. "Hey!"

Finn waved back at her, as Sue offered her a wink.

Santana was led in next, and it was all she could do not to jump up and hug her because it had been _so_ long. She took a calming breath, keeping her eyes forward. If she looked at Santana, she wouldn't be able to stop herself.

And it was part of the plan. She had to stick to the plan. No touching each other, or being excited.

They had to play this cool. It was their only chance.

Santana sat down, eyebrow rising when her handcuffs were unlocked. Well, this was a pleasant surprise, and made the whole thing a hell of a lot easier all of a sudden.

She met Sue's eyes, her own narrowing as her ex-Coach smirked at her.

"Santana, you seem surprised?"

Santana lifted her wrists slightly, not trusting her voice just yet. Brittany was _right_ next to her. She had to control herself; her heart was already set to burst through her chest.

Her eyes lifted to Finn Hudson. What the fuck was he doing there?

"Sue didn't want people – like, the viewers – to see you guys in handcuffs. She reckons it's better for her image if you guys aren't wearing them. You know. To show she's not afraid of you or whatever."

Santana wanted to ask why the fuck Finn Hudson thought it necessary that he speak to her, but then his attention was diverted from her anyway.

Rachel came in next, being seated and having her handcuffs unlocked. She gasped when she saw Finn.

"What are you doing here?" This wasn't part of the plan. Sure, she knew he was still working for Sue but – but she didn't expect him to be _here_.

"You wouldn't see me, I kept trying to visit but you wouldn't –" his voice trailed off as Quinn was led into the room with her hands and ankles cuffed.

She sat heavily in the remaining chair, her eyes on her hands while her handcuffs were unlocked and her feet set free.

"Well ladies, we're going live in about ten minutes. Any pre show jitters you'd like to work out before we go on air?"

But each girl kept herself quiet, waiting patiently for the right moment to speak. After all, there was an entire jail out there that would be watching, and just waiting for the word 'Go'.

"Rachel –" Finn started, but was cut off again by the warden entering the room.

"Sue!" He called out with a smile.

"James." Sue returned, accepting his hand and shaking it.

"Just wanted to say that everybody is in place, and I hope you don't mind the shotguns. It isn't our usual fair, but we've got to let the people at home know that these girls are under lock and key. Especially without the handcuffs!" He laughed for a minute, shaking his head. "And if you want to bring me in towards the end, maybe ask some questions about security or something, well you just go right ahead. I'll be here, in the room, the whole time."

He beamed at her, and Sue just nodded.

"If we have time, warden. If we have time. Lurch! Get out of the shot, we're going live in just under five minutes. I hope everybody is ready, and girls? Don't hold back."

"Oh," Santana said. "We won't."

* * *

><p>Rachel's eyes closed as they cut to commercial. She took a deep breath, trying with all of her strength to not reach out – just a ruler's length – and touch Quinn's hand. They'd agreed, through their messengers, that they should play it as calm and collected as possible. Let the guards relax a little, appear as if they didn't give a damn either way about being in the same room together.<p>

Hell, if this riot thing didn't work maybe they'd be a few steps closer to at least being locked up together?

"Rachel, listen. I don't have much time, but I just wanted to say that – that I understand why you won't see me. You're embarrassed, I get that. But Rachel, I don't care. I miss you. I mean, everyone left Lima after high school, and I'm with Sue on her show now, but it's – it's not the same. I think about you all the time and I – I was thinking. We could get married, I heard of these people who got married even though one was in jail. And like, we could do conjugal visits and I could – I would totally raise our kids while you served time. I get a pretty good salary with Sue, so I could afford it. And maybe one day, if you were on good behavior, or something, they'd let you out early and we could be together. As a family. What do you say? I just, Rachel, I just love you so much."

Her eyes cracked open midway through his speech, and of course, there was Finn Hudson down on one knee. His voice was hushed – Sue was angrily talking into her ear piece and not paying attention – but she was fairly certain that the girls either side of her had heard.

"I –" she started, but didn't know where to go from there. This was entirely unexpected. What was he doing? He loved her?

She had too much to deal with right now, what with the impending escape attempt and Quinn Fabray – who she'd been dreaming of being with again for more than a year – finally within reach.

"Lurch, move your ass!" Sue barked, and Finn offered her a smile before standing and moving back just beside the camera.

"All for one?" Santana muttered, because this was it. In a few moments, she was going to say the sentence they'd all agreed on to start the riots.

"One for all." Brittany returned in a whisper.

"One for all." Quinn said, her voice strained.

"One for all." Rachel offered meekly, staring at Finn completely stricken. She didn't love him, but soon? The sweet smile he currently directed at her was going to be wiped off his face in the worst way.

* * *

><p>"You can't take me off the air! I don't care if hell is swallowing the earth whole! I was in the middle of a God damned interview!"<p>

The warden ran his hands through his hair, gesturing at Sue to calm down.

"It appears we have a small riot on our hands, that's all. So if we all remain calm. Smith, Thompson? You can go and lend a hand, will you?" He gestured at the two guards left standing behind the girls, who began to move toward the door.

This was it. This was the moment.

"Now!" Santana yelled, and Brittany surged forward and pushed the table in front of them onto its side.

Rachel and Quinn stood up, lunging toward the guards and grabbing at the shotguns.

Santana fell to her knees, Brittany joining her behind the table as they pushed against it with all their might. It moved across the floor with a loud squeak, and slammed into one of the guards who had been behind Sue. He dropped his gun, crying out in pain.

Sue jumped, hands flying above her head and inadvertently blocking the fourth guards view.

"Get down!" He shouted, before a shot fired and he was blasted against the wall.

Brittany crawled forwards quickly, taking the gun he had dropped, as Santana hit the guard slumped over the table in the head.

Rachel struggled with her guard, as the woman attempted to throw her off. She held fast though, aiming a kick at the woman's shins and taking the weapon easily.

"I'm sorry." She said, before using the weapon to hit the woman as hard as she could over the head.

Santana, Brittany and Rachel all turned their weapons toward the final guard.

He pulled his hand back to punch Quinn in the face and get her off him, but stopped when he saw the other girls were aiming weapons at him.

"Aw, hell." He muttered, surrendering his gun. Quinn took it, spinning it around and slamming the butt of it into his face.

Sue was frozen in her chair, mouth open.

Finn was cowering beside her, wondering what the fuck had just happened.

The warden had his hands in the air, looking desperately around the room.

"Well, do something!" He hissed to only person left standing – the tech guy, responsible for the cameras and sound equipment, not for disarming prisoners.

"Uh, stop?" The guy said, standing up.

"Fuck!" Santana swore. "Okay, okay. You! Sue! You tell those bitches they have to put us back on or we'll shoot more people!"

Sue shrugged her shoulders, and then shook her head.

"It's not going to work, Lopez, and you are in a bigger world of shit than you –"

"Shut up, Coach!" Brittany cried, aiming her shotgun at the tech guy. "Do it."

"Listen, ladies, you've just shot a prison guard and seriously injured another three, do you really think this is the best course of action for –"

Brittany depressed her finger on the trigger, and the tech guy slumped backwards.

Sue stood quickly.

"You too." Rachel said softly, gesturing for Finn to stand as well.

"And you." Quinn added to the warden, herding the three of them to stand in front of one of the cameras.

O-O

Santana pulled the van over, glad that the sun had almost set and they'd have the night ahead to get as far away as they could. She heard the others get out of the van, and turned to Rose.

"You ready?" She asked.

Rose nodded her head, reaching into her bra and pulling out a shiv.

"I made this before we left, for this occasion especially." She slowly dragged the weapon over her palm, wincing slightly as she did so.

Santana decided, then and there, that she would _never_ be more badass than this chick.

Rose let the blood pool in her hand, and then quickly threw it at Santana's face.

"Fuck you, Rose!" Santana yelled, aiming the shotgun out of the window and firing. "But no really, that shit is gross." She mumbled, taking a deep breath and getting out of the van. She walked over to the group, waving her gun around. "Enough of this fucking camera! The warden is dead, and so is Rose! And you know what, America? So are you!"

Brittany jumped as the camera was shot, and then breathed a sigh of relief. This part was almost over.

"So what now, ladies? I suggest we head to –"

"Not now, Sue." Quinn said, keeping her gun raised.

Sue frowned deeply.

"May I remind you who played a crucial role in assisting your escape? If it weren't for me –"

"If it weren't for you, hell, maybe none of this would have even happened." Quinn raised her eyebrow, as Sue rolled her eyes.

"Rachel, please don't do this." Finn was on his knees, his hands behind his head. Rachel lowered her gun slightly.

"I have to. I apologize, Finn. I do. I'm sure someone will find you eventually, it's just –"

"Are you going to kill me?"

His voice was trembling so badly, she almost felt sorry enough for him to offer to take him with them.

"No. You and Sue are staying here. We'll be taking the van, and you'll never see us again."

"Like hell we won't! I will not rest until the authorities have recaptured you and put you in the electric chair! As God is my witness, you –"

"Come on," Quinn said, turning her back on the shouting woman, and moving back toward the van.

"Bye, Coach." Brittany called, climbing behind her.

"Laters, bitch!"

Santana climbed in after Brittany, grabbing her in a hug as soon as she was inside.

"Rachel?" Finn asked, but the girl just shook her head.

" – I'll pull the fucking switch myself you ungrateful fucking –"

"Bye Finn." Rachel whispered, leaning forward quickly to kiss his cheek.

Then she ran toward the van, and climbed inside, slamming the rolling door shut behind her.

Rose started the engine, and away they drove.

O-O

Santana couldn't stop kissing Brittany. And not just her mouth, either. She pressed kisses to her eyelids, her cheeks, her nose and her chin. She couldn't get enough of her.

Brittany just clung to the girl, reveling in the feeling of being so loved. She had spent more than a year thinking this would never happen again.

She was so happy, she could cry.

Rachel fell against Quinn, wrapping her arms tightly around her and holding on for dear life.

There weren't words. There weren't declarations or proclamations to make. They just held each other so tightly they could barely breathe.

In the front seat, Rose drove them through the forest she'd spent a lot of her childhood camping in. There was an old cabin a few miles ahead, where a friend of her brother's was set to meet them with a new car.

As the moon shone high above the treetops, and the girls in the back hugged each other and wept, she figured it was a pretty nice night to be alive.

And free.

O-O

Well, Santana thought, yeah she had really missed her friends. But four hours of being cramped in the boot of a car with them was kind of overkill.

"Move your foot!" Quinn hissed, slapping Santana's foot out of her face.

"Move your ass!" Santana shot back, rocking her hips into it.

"Shut up, both of you!" Rachel whispered furiously, trying not to think about things like choking on exhaust fumes, or the likelihood of their saviors being involved in a car crash of some kind, and being found broken and bloody in the boot of a car.

Brittany just snored, wrapped tightly around Santana, and properly comfortable for the first time in far too long.

Rose adjusted the wig on her head, and checked her make up again. Yeah, she looked like a ho, but it was better than looking like someone who was meant to be dead.

"So those chicas in the boot are your friends, ey?" The driver asked her, checking his mirrors for other lights along the highway.

"One of them, yeah." She answered with a smirk. "Best friend I ever had."

* * *

><p>It was a basement. Fairly spacious, with two mattresses on the floor and an old television set on a tiny table. There was a laundry off to the side, and a door.<p>

But it was still a basement.

"So, how long do we need to stay down here?" Santana asked, eyeing the mattresses.

Rose shrugged her shoulders.

"As long as it takes for the news to stop broadcasting about your asses. Give it a month. Two tops. By that point, my boy here will have new papers for all of you, and you can be on your way out of the country."

Brittany stepped gingerly down the stairs, looking between the mattresses before falling onto one of them.

Quinn and Rachel each inspected the rest of the basement, giving each other looks as they did so.

"And what about you?" Santana asked, as Rose just chuckled.

"I'm a dead woman, now. I can be anybody. Tony's gone to get Cleo, and then the three of us are out of here. New life, and shit." Rose leant against the doorway, reaching out a hand quickly to touch Santana's shoulder.

"Wait, what? So you're not going to be around?" Santana felt her heart rate increase slightly. Because yeah, they'd just broken out of prison, but now they were in some random dude's basement and shit could get a whole lot worse.

"Relax, okay? This guy is a good guy. He's family. And since you saved my ass? Shit, Santana. That's worth more than you know. He'll take care of you, and then he'll send you on your way, okay?"

Santana just nodded, accepting the hug when it came, and feeling something in her chest tighten. She'd shared a room – and a life – with this girl for the last year, and now they were saying goodbye.

"What about the van? What happened to –"

Rose just laughed.

"I'd say about now it's being crushed into a tiny little cube. Tiny. The tiniest. Ain't never be found, you can count on that."

"San?" Brittany called.

Santana took one last look at Rose, before turning on her heel and all but jumping down the stairs to get to Brittany.

Rose shut the door behind her, and locked it.

O-O

As far as privacy went, well, there wasn't much of it. The door leading from the basement was a bathroom with a toilet and shower. Other than that, they had their mattresses and a television.

And, of course, each other.

Even as the sun rose, after the night they'd had, none of them were sleeping.

Brittany kept tracing her hands over Santana's cheeks, memorizing the feel of them against her fingertips. She'd loved her forever, sure, but this was like something she couldn't describe. She had lain awake, night after night, on her bunk with her hand on the wall, wondering where Santana was at that moment. Was she sleeping? Comfortable? Did she need her cuddle buddy as much as her cuddle buddy needed her?

Santana felt like sobbing her fucking heart out. With happiness, and relief, and everything that could've gone wrong. And it hadn't. After all the shit, and fear, and running, here she was lying with Brittany in some basement in Chicago. In a city, of all places. She'd been so right – it was worth it, everything, to have this again.

Rachel _was_ crying. Very softly, as she buried her face in Quinn's neck and held on tightly. Here it was, the thing she had been craving since she'd seen a bunch of cars pull into a gas station and arrest her. She had Quinn again. God, she'd forgotten what the girl smelt like, how she felt to be so close. It was wonderful. It was so wonderful, and she had waited for so long to have this back.

Quinn held onto Rachel just as tightly, wondering if she squeezed enough would they just merge into each other. It wasn't close enough, nothing was. She held on tighter than she'd ever held anything, as a year of loneliness – fuck, a _lifetime_ – felt like it was finally over and done with.

After a moment, Quinn pulled back just slightly, reaching her hand up to turn Rachel's face toward her. The girl had hair in her eyes – Quinn brushed it away – and tears on her face – Quinn wiped them away – and she thought Rachel had never looked more beautiful.

"Thank you for choosing me." Quinn whispered, voice breaking.

"Always." Rachel whispered back. "I'll always choose you. I love you."

Quinn felt her own tears slip out of her eyes, because she had never been so fucking happy or relieved.

"I love you." She murmured, pressing her mouth to Rachel's and keeping it there.

* * *

><p>"Hey, I would knock but you have the teevee up so loud my neighbors probably think I'm housing fugitives down here," Miguel called as he opened the door to his basement.<p>

Two pairs of girls pulled apart to look up at him sheepishly.

"We were just keeping track of the news," one of the blonde ones said, as the little brunette she'd been wrapped around leant towards the television to turn it down.

"Yeah, well, I got you some food and some clothes." He placed the bags at the bottom of the staircase, before running his hand through his hair. "That shit you pulled? That was pretty fucking impressive, I'm just saying. It's going to be on the news for a while so, uh, yeah. Anyway, start thinking of new names because you won't be able to use your own again. Ever." He shrugged at them. "I have to go out, so keep the noise down, okay? You're hiding down here, remember?"

He walked back up the stairs, smiling to himself.

Those girls didn't look near as tough as they actually were.

* * *

><p>"Serves her right!" Santana said gleefully as they watched footage of Sue Sylvester being arrested on the six o'clock news.<p>

Brittany laughed, eating a french fry and moaning at how good it tasted. She never wanted to go back to prison. The food was _awful_.

Rachel frowned as she watched Quinn eat a salad, looking around for a third burger.

"Did Miguel forget your bacon cheeseburger Quinn? I'm so sorry. You must've been dreaming about one for the last year!"

Quinn just shrugged.

"I went vegan."

Rachel nodded her head, focusing back on the television. After a minute, her eyes widened and she turned back to look at Quinn so fast she almost gave herself whiplash.

"You – you did? But why?" Rachel felt herself tearing up again. It had been a highly emotional few days. Well. Few years.

Quinn just shrugged. "Because the global slaughter of innocent animals isn't something I want to support, anymore." She speared a piece of tomato, bringing it to her lips. "And this girl I'm kind of in love with is into it, so it's a bit rude to make her kiss my bacon mouth."

Rachel couldn't believe it. This was almost too much.

Sure, they'd broken out of prison and were now hiding in some strange man's basement while they waited for the cops to ease up on their search for them. But for someone to go vegan just because they loved her?

"I love your mouth, bacon or not. I love all of you, whether you choose to eat meat, or go with an alternative eating lifestyle that eradicates toxins and fats from your diet and is, all round, a lot healthier for you." Rachel beamed, leaning forward to kiss Quinn softly on the mouth.

She began to pull back, but Quinn followed her, reaching up a hand and pressing it to the back of Rachel's head. She tilted slightly, opening her lips and capturing Rachel's bottom lip between her own. She sucked it lightly into her mouth, as Rachel opened hers, and slipped her tongue between Quinn's lips.

"This not having separate rooms thing might get a little awkward." Santana muttered, enjoying her cheeseburger and wishing it had extra triple meat on it so she could claim how much meat was just delicious. Vegan whatever.

Brittany nodded her head. "At least we can still have shower sex?"

Santana dropped her cheeseburger.

"Britts, you are the smartest person in the fucking world. Let's go!"

As the other two shut the bathroom door behind them, Rachel pushed Quinn down onto the mattress, settling between her legs and pressing her hips down.

"God, Rachel, I missed you," Quinn breathed, running her hands down the girl's back and down to cup her ass, pulling her body closer.

"I missed you too, baby," Rachel bit out, arching her back slightly, and letting her hair fall down to frame her face.

"Show me how much." Quinn moaned, as Rachel leant down and ran her tongue along the length of her neck.

"You should feel how much," Rachel whispered into her ear, running her fingers down Quinn's arm and grabbing her hand. She pulled it between their bodies, taking it under her dress, and pressing Quinn's fingertips to her underwear.

Quinn had never thought she was a sexual person. Sure, people found her sexy, and she had used that to her advantage in the past. But here with Rachel, now, she realized that she didn't care how long they were in that basement. They could stay there as long as their jail sentences for all she cared.

As long as she got to make love to Rachel Berry for the rest of her life.

* * *

><p>"Oh, please. I can't believe she chewed our asses out for getting caught on film, and then murdered somebody live on camera! Talk about being an idiot." Santana was so grateful for the television, she could've kissed Miguel and offered to have his babies.<p>

"Right?" Brittany agreed, as they watched Jessalyn Briggs smugly report on Sue's arrest.

"_... while she claims to have been under the influence of the escaped convicts, footage of Sylvester grabbing a shotgun from Lopez's hands cannot be disputed..._"

"You know, I bet she spent that whole time wishing we'd taken her with us." Quinn muttered, running her fingers through Rachel's hair.

Rachel had her head on Quinn's stomach, listening to the faint gurgles as well as the television.

"She always said you reminded her of a younger version of herself, didn't she? Psychologically that would infer that she felt a closeness to you, perhaps a mother-daughter or sisterly bond?"

Santana just laughed.

"Can you imagine being Sue Sylvester's daughter? Jesus."

"I feel bad for my parents." Brittany said softly, shrugging her shoulders. "They came to see me in jail, but like, I don't know. I never knew what to say."

"My fathers visited me often, too. I apologized profusely, there wasn't much else to do. I told them that it wasn't their parenting that made me do what I did. It had nothing to do with them, because it didn't. I made my choice."

Quinn kept her fingers running through Rachel's hair, as she mulled over her words.

"My parents didn't come at all. No biggie." Santana shrugged, and then winced slightly. "Wait, that's a lie. It hurt like fucking hell. But what can you do?"

Brittany sat up, laying her hand over Santana's.

"Live the rest of our lives happy, and free."

And, God willing, that was exactly what they were going to do.

O-O

The second month went faster than the first.

The first month became about sneaking off to the shower to get some private time, while the couple left in the room tried to get their own private time in before the other's shower ended.

They watched the news, waiting for a show to go by where they weren't mentioned.

Mostly, they hugged each other. They talked about the year that had gone past, the friends they had made in prison, and how they hoped that the women who had helped them had found their own freedom, if that's what they'd chosen.

Monique had been caught already, and Brittany had cried when she'd seen the footage. The tall woman had just flipped the camera off, though, with a big smile on her face.

But that was all they heard about it, other than a continued search for the four of them.

In the second month, they stopped paying so much attention to the news, and Miguel let them decorate the basement a little. He found them a rug, and some drapes for the small windows at the top of the walls.

He offered to put up a partition to give them some privacy, but they waved him off. It was like a slumber party, they reasoned, with best friends you thought you'd never see again, and so you never wanted it to end.

* * *

><p>"Okay," Miguel said, opening the basement door. "Since you're going to be gone before King's week – and miss a hell of a party – I brought you a special something. And some news, too."<p>

He skipped down the stairs, waiting for the girls at the bottom to stop talking amongst themselves.

"Well, spill!" Santana called, laughing.

"Firstly, Rose is in Cuba, safe and sound. She told me to say hey bitches, and that you better be treating me right." Miguel winked at them, as Brittany threw a shoe at him. "Secondly, your new identification papers are almost ready to go. Which means, ladies, _you_ are almost ready to go. No tears, no crying. It's been fun, and it's been real, but it ain't been real fun being your delivery driver."

Rachel laughed, turning to Quinn and mumbling something about people in gang's being far less scary than she thought they'd be.

"So what are our names? Because you just laughed at all my suggestions, you ass." Santana crossed her arms as Miguel rolled his eyes.

"Because Una Love-Beaver will get you arrested faster than you can say it. So I took the liberty of naming you myself. But all will be revealed tomorrow." He reached into his back pocket, bringing out a small bag. "And finally, as a going away present, I bring you the highest quality weed in Chicago Heights."

Rachel sat up quickly with a frown on her face, as Santana jumped to her feet.

"Miguel, you are a fucking saint." She grabbed the bag from his outstretched hand.

Miguel shrugged. "There's papers and shit in there, all you need. So enjoy, ladies. And don't fucking think about coming upstairs and raiding my fridge. I'll drop some chips and shit off before I go out."

"How do we thank you?" Brittany asked, standing as Santana walked back over to them.

"You don't need to. You freed a Latin Queen and gave her a new life. This is my thanks to you."

* * *

><p>The four of them sat on one of the mattresses, with the bag in the middle of their circle. Rachel opened her mouth to speak, but Santana held her hand up.<p>

"Before you object, Berry, let me just say a few things. The first is that we've killed people. We've also been to jail. We then broke out of that jail, and are back on America's Most Wanted list. With like, a vengeance. Okay? We've all drunk alcohol even though we're underage. I think drug use is a natural progression. It ain't going to fuck our shit up more than it is already. That's my argument, and I'm sticking to it. So, I think we should do it."

Rachel opened her mouth again, but this time Quinn cut her off.

"I agree with Santana. I mean, I wouldn't have two years ago. But I'm curious. I think we all are, and I don't think we'll have a few puffs, and then go out and fall into a life of crime because we already did that without taking drugs. Maybe we should have this last experience together, since in a couple of days we'll be leaving and risking our lives again and it – it might all end."

Rachel opened her mouth to speak. Brittany cut in quickly.

"I totally think they're right, and I heard – in jail, from my crew – that stoned orgasms are awesome. Like, more than not stoned orgasms."

Rachel grit her teeth for a minute, looking between the three other girls and waiting for any of them to add something else. When they didn't, she finally spoke.

"Firstly, I agree with all of you. In fact, I'm rather hurt that you would all naturally assume that I would have an aversion to smoking marijuana – a plant that occurs in nature, and requires no human intervention to make it potent or fit for our consumption. Once upon a time, you may all remember, I envisioned a future where I would attend New York University and study musical theatre. In my preparations for such an event, I did some rather intense self-reflection. Would there come a time when I may become sexually involved with a female? In New York, in musical theatre, well the chance was rather high. Therefore I examined my sexuality, and concluded that, yes, one day I would be okay with such a thing."

Quinn's jaw dropped open.

"What?"

But Rachel just held up a hand.

"I also realized that I would likely come into contact with people who used drugs, and a time may come when I was given the opportunity to do the same. In order to fully prepare myself, I did some research. I immediately ruled out heroin, ketamine, and crystal meth. All are physically damaging, and highly addictive drugs, and none of their effects appeal to me. I ruled out cocaine, believing that were I to try that particular drug it would likely result in my head exploding as I am already high energy, talkative, and have a healthy ego. I crossed off speed for the same reasons."

Brittany was blinking rapidly.

"Wow."

"Since there is a debate raging about whether marijuana is or is not bad for you, I conducted my own research. Without the drug itself, my research was purely theoretical, however I came to the conclusion that were I to ever try any drug in my life in would be this one. The risks, as they were, seemed to be at the lowest end of the drug spectrum, and as I said, it grows naturally out of the Earth."

"What are the risks?" Brittany asked, entranced by Rachel gesturing wildly as she spoke.

"If you are predisposed to mental illness, prolonged use may trigger it however dormant in your mind. But, the illness must be there in the first place. There is also a personality risk involved. For example, Finn Hudson would be a terrible person to use marijuana, as he would likely blame the drug for his downfalls in life, rather than his own shortcomings." Rachel took a breath, she felt she had made her point. "As a one off excursion, I wholeheartedly support that we do this. In moderation, should any of us experience paranoia or have a sensitive reaction to it."

Brittany reached for the bag, pulling out papers and some small bits of cardboard.

"LaFresia taught me how to roll cigarettes so I could pay Dominique for the messages." She stuck her tongue out, balancing the paper on her hand.

Santana had never felt more proud of her girl.

"What I want to know is, what happened at Roswell, you know? Like, of course there are aliens and shit up there. Do you – have you ever looked at the universe? Like really looked at it? Fuck, man. It's so big." Santana took another hit, passing it to her left and waiting for whoever to take it.

They were all laying on their backs, their heads together as they passed the – sixth? Seventh? – joint around.

"It's as big as the sky, right?" Brittany said, taking a hit and exhaling without coughing. It had taken them all a little while, but they were finally able to inhale without having coughing fits.

"Bigger, Britts. Bigger than the sky. It's like a window, you know? The sky is just a big fucking window. But there's a whole _house_."

"Can we live in it?" Brittany passed the smoldering roach to Quinn, who took it happily.

"Universe house." Quinn said suddenly, before she started to giggle. "Are we in the basement of the universe house right now?"

Rachel was waving her arms in the air above her head, grinning madly.

"All I wanna do is," Rachel made little gun noises with her mouth. "And a," she clicked her tongue. "Ching! And take your money!"

"Wait, not a house. I meant like, a world. Or a lawn. Or. What was I talking about?"

Brittany started to giggle, too.

"There is no outside. Only this basement."

Quinn laughed loudly. "Well fuck me if that's true!"

"I will!" Rachel rolled over, reaching for Quinn, who kept laughing.

"What if the basement is all there is?"

Santana frowned deeply, blinking.

"Wait, what was I talking about? It was really fucking important. It was – what _was_ it?"

"I hope my name is something awesome. Like." Brittany's eyes crossed slightly as she tried to think. "Brittany."

"Whoa, your face is amazing." Rachel said seriously, pushing her fingertips into Quinn's cheeks.

"You're amazing." Quinn said back, frowning slightly as Rachel pushed her cheek into her eye.

"Fuck you all, I'm amazing!" Santana declared sitting up. "I need chips."

"Chips!" Brittany echoed.

"Chips!" Rachel gasped.

"Chish!" Quinn managed to get out, even though Rachel had pushed her cheeks together.

As far as send offs went, it wasn't one they'd remember very well. And despite all of them wanting to validate whether the orgasm plus marijuana equals holy shit balls equation was true, they ended up falling asleep heaped together on one mattress instead.

"All for one!" Brittany mumbled sleepily, just before passing out.

And one for all.

O-O

"I still don't see why we have to be dudes." Santana muttered to Rachel, eyeing her new passport suspiciously.

"I have to say that I agree. Surely we would never pass as men –"

"Nope," Miguel agreed with a shrug. "You wouldn't. Unless, of course, you were effeminate gay dudes traveling to Mexico to meet Mario's family."

"And I'm meant to be Mario?" Santana frowned deeply. They were so fucking screwed.

Miguel gave them a reassuring grin.

"Look, they're looking for four girls, okay? Not two dudes. And not two dudes who are gay for each other, okay? We cut off your hair, give you mustaches, and no one will stop you. Trust me."

Rachel sighed deeply, before throwing her shoulders back.

"While I disagree with cutting my hair on principal, I do believe in transforming oneself for a role. This, I believe, will be a great acting challenge. One that I will rise to, for the sake of freedom."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Why can't Britts be my super sexy white gay boyfriend instead of Berry? Who would believe that we were banging dicks, or whatever?"

Miguel shrugged. "Because the other two are sisters. Red-headed sisters. I know it ain't the pairs you want, but it's just until you're over the border. Then, you'll use these."

He handed them a set of identical passports, both with female aliases inside.

"Okay, but –" Santana started, but Miguel cut her off.

"Just trust me. It's what I do. And it will work." He reached a hand up, awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck. "I know you don't want to hear this, but when you get over the border? Split up. It will be easier that way. The four of you together is too risky. I'm sorry, but it's true."

* * *

><p>It was a hard goodbye. Their basement haven had become one they had – though at first grudgingly – eventually come to love. It was the only place they had been allowed to be together, and feel safe.<p>

They wouldn't see Miguel again. They had made a pact already that if they were caught, they wouldn't sell him out. Or Rose.

It was hardest to say goodbye to each other. Rachel and Santana set off first in a Subaru that had appeared at the house the morning they were due to leave.

They had agreed not to laugh at each other, or mock the other for the ridiculously short hair they now sported. Santana had her hair oiled back, and a mustache on her face that Miguel had made out of the strands he had cut off her head.

Rachel wanted to call her Antonio Banderas, but decided against it. After all, it depended on their ability to get along with each other to be able to get over the border. She also didn't want to encourage Santana into repaying the favor, because whatever nickname Santana came up with would be worse. At least Antonio Banderas was sexy.

Rachel's hair had been cut close to her neck, though she'd been given a floppy fringe that made her feel ridiculous. Her moustache wasn't as large as Santana's, but Miguel had used the clippings from the back of her neck, and glue, to give her a five o'clock shadow.

Sure, she looked pretty cute and she'd probably date herself, she mused, if she were twelve years old.

They would drive all day, stay in a motel that night, and hit the border the following afternoon.

Miguel advised them, for their own safety, not to stay in the same motel as Quinn and Brittany. He gave them five hundred dollars in cash, each, and waved them off.

The blondes left an hour after the brunettes. Except, they were no longer blondes.

Quinn had let her hair grow out in the year she'd been in prison, though it was now back to being shoulder length and wispy. It had been dyed bright red, as had Brittany's, and they'd drawn freckles all over each other's faces.

They were to drive down in a station wagon, and when Miguel showed them what was in the back, Quinn took a deep breath. Because sure, it was smart, but what if it didn't work?

* * *

><p>"Do I keep the facial hair on? What if it rubs off on my pillow? I wish we had cell phones and could call Quinn and Brittany. I hope they're okay. What if they've been stopped?" Rachel paced back and forth in front of the television, as Santana scowled.<p>

"Fucking hell, would you calm down? What do these questions do? Huh? It just makes shit worse, and we have a long drive tomorrow and might get shot and – and the worst part of getting caught is doing so while pretending to be in a gay male relationship with _you_." Santana crossed her arms over her chest, because really. Just when she thought her life couldn't get any more ridiculous.

Rachel took a deep breath, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"I apologize, Santana. I do. I've just been so stressed for so long and I'm –"

"I know, okay? I know. I am too. So let's just go to sleep, and get this shit done."

"Do you think they're okay?" Brittany whispered, her face turned toward Quinn in the darkness.

"I don't know. I hope so. I hope they haven't been caught, but more than that, haven't killed each other either."

Quinn turned over, staring at the ceiling. At least this one didn't have tiny holes in it.

O-O

"Here we go." Santana muttered, pulling to a stop and reaching for their passports. The female versions were under her seat, hidden away.

"Business or pleasure?"

Santana cleared her throat, mimicking her grandfather's accent as best she could.

"Pleasure. We are visiting my family."

"Oui!" Rachel agreed, her own voice lowered.

Santana had to stop herself from glaring at the other girl, because since when was she pretending to be French?

The border patrol officer bent down, eyeing them both.

Rachel panicked. She leant across quickly, putting her hand in Santana's lap and kissing her cheek wetly.

"We are in love! We go to Mexico to make sure the family is okay when we marry!"

Santana grit her teeth. What the fuck? Was that accent French or Italian?

"Si, we are in love." Santana said slowly, trying to smile pleasantly at the officer who now had his eyebrows raised.

"Duration of your visit?"

"A week." Santana replied, thinking, fuck it. She was going to sell this shit. She turned her head to Rachel, reached out and grabbed the girl's head and pulled it towards her own.

Rachel squeaked as Santana kissed her roughly, remembering halfway through that she was meant to be enjoying it rather than appear so shocked.

"Sir." The officer said awkwardly, and Santana pulled back with a wet pop.

"I just love that cock sucking mouth." She purred, keeping her voice as low as she could.

The officer handed their passports back to them, waving them through.

Rachel fell back in her seat, trying to look completely normal.

After ten minutes, she suddenly burst out laughing.

Santana joined in because, what the fuck? They had made it to Mexico.

* * *

><p>"Ready, Britts?" Quinn asked as their car was pulled to a stop by a border patrol officer.<p>

"Passports, Miss." He said, holding his hand out.

Quinn leant over and opened the glove compartment, taking the passports and handing them over.

"Here you go, Sir!" She said brightly, adopting an accent she assumed was close enough to South Carolina.

"What's your business in Mexico?"

Brittany clapped her hands.

"I'm going to get myself a donkey and ride him until he can't stand up anymore."

Quinn cleared her throat. "We're going on holiday, Sir, and I plan to show my sister here a good time."

The officer raised his eyebrows, handing the passports back.

"How long will you be in Mexico for?"

"A week." Quinn replied quickly, keeping her face neutral as he peered at them, before stepping back and examining the car.

"Do you mind stepping out of the vehicle, Miss?"

Quinn felt her heart rate pick up, keeping a smile planted firmly on her face.

"Not at all, Sir!" She glanced at Brittany, before taking a deep breath and opening the car door.

"Your passenger too, Miss." He said gruffly, and Quinn nodded her head.

"Absolutely, Sir. Right away, if you insist. But do you mind giving me a hand? She needs help getting out of the car."

He followed her to the trunk, stepping back slightly as she opened it and reached inside.

Doing her best to pretend to struggle, she lifted the foldable wheelchair out and placed it on the ground.

"Miss –" he started to say, but she waved him off.

"If you don't mind helping me lift her out of the passenger seat that would –"

"It's all right, Miss." He said quickly, reaching for the wheelchair and lifting it easily back into the car. "That's fine, you just get back in and be on your way. That's all I needed to see."

"Thank you so much," Quinn said, getting back into the driver's seat and starting the engine.

"You and your sister have a real special time." He nodded his head at them as they began to pull away.

And then, just like that, they were in Mexico.

O-O

Santana paced back and forth beside the car, as Rachel chewed on one of her fingernails nervously.

Please, she thought, please let them have gotten through.

Santana was about to kick one of the tires, when she saw the station wagon crest the hill. She couldn't help it; she started running towards the car.

It drove toward her, with two of the biggest smiles she'd ever seen staring back at her from the front seat.

They'd made it. Thank fucking God they'd made it.

Quinn slowed the car down enough for Santana to jump into the backseat, wasting no time in leaning over and kissing Brittany for all she was worth.

Quinn slammed on the brakes near the other car, opening her door and all but running toward Rachel, who was crying again with happiness.

"I love you," Santana whispered against Brittany's lips. "I love you."

"I know, baby," Brittany replied, pressing her lips to Santana's again. "I've loved you since the day we met."

Quinn picked Rachel up, spinning her around and around.

"Never again!" She cried out, putting Rachel back down and hugging her tightly. "I'm never leaving you again!"

Rachel just smiled, and wept, and buried her face in Quinn's shoulder.

It had worked. And it had taken them so fucking long to get here.

Two cars crested the hill, and began to drive toward them.

Santana and Brittany got out of the car, walking hand in hand toward Quinn and Rachel.

When the cars stopped, three men got out and nodded at them.

"These are for you, we'll take those. Si?"

Santana eyed the two cars they were meant to be trading. They were meant to be splitting up, but fuck that. And fuck it forever.

"Just one. We just need one." She said haltingly, and Quinn stepped forward.

"Yeah, just one car."

Brittany clapped her hands, smiling in relief.

Rachel wiped her eyes, giving the men a watery smile.

"Thank you." She said. "Por favor."

The men just shrugged, trading two sets of keys for one.

The Subaru, station wagon, and a sedan, drove back over the hill and away from them.

They were left with a convertible.

"Shotgun!" Brittany called, vaulting over the passenger door and settling in her seat.

"I am so fucking driving this shit!" Santana yelled, opting to open her door.

Hand in hand, Quinn and Rachel followed them, climbing into the backseats.

"I must say," Rachel began, clearing her throat. "I'm very happy we all agree to stay together. I, for one, thought the suggestion to split up preposterous. Our punishment was separation, and we aren't about to punish ourselves –"

Santana rolled her eyes, turning on the radio and pumping the volume.

"I love this song!" Brittany gasped, smiling brightly.

"It's okay, you can tell me all about it as we drive." Quinn murmured into Rachel's ear, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Everything finally felt right.

"Where are we going?" Rachel asked loudly, over the music.

Santana put the car into gear, and shrugged her shoulders.

Brittany turned the music down slightly, turning to the driver.

"Can we go to Machu Piccu?"

"Of course we can, Britts – I mean, _Heather_. God, that will take some getting used to."

"Yeah, _Naya_." Quinn called from the backseat, laughing.

"Shut up, _Dianna_ with two 'n's! What even is that?"

"I believe it was Miguel's attempt to allow Quinn a familiarity with her new name, by transposing the double n –"

"Shut up, _Lea_!" Santana said, and turned the music up again, glancing at Brittany and raising her voice to yell over the top of it. "Now let's go get you that donkey!"

O-O O-O O-O O-O

_And of course you don't become, if you only say what you would've done_

_And so I missed a million miles of fun_

_And I'm not only among, but I invite who I'd want to come_

_And so I missed a million miles of fun_


	12. Epilogue

**Epilogue – A Sip Of Something Poison**

"Hey Rach! Can I, uh, talk to you for a sec?"

Rachel watched the tall boy lumber toward her, one hand rubbing the back of his neck as he gave her a shy smile.

She should've been able to hold onto her anger at him. Should've squared her shoulders and remained completely impassive to the chagrined expression, and hope in his eyes.

"Yes, Finn, you may." Was what she said, instead.

"I just wanted to apologize, that's all. I know we – look, I shouldn't have said what I did and I'm sorry. You were right. Okay?" He kept his voice quiet, as students passed them on their way to the cafeteria.

Rachel felt a flush of annoyance rise somewhere in the back of her mind. Now he was sorry? It was always like this with Finn Hudson. One minute he'd be kicking chairs and seem so filled with anger it was like he couldn't do anything but yell; the next, shame faced and apologetic. Hopeful that not only could it be forgiven, but also forgotten.

At the same time, her heart melted at the sweet look on his face. This was when she loved him best. If only, she thought, he could stay like this Finn forever.

"I appreciate your apology Finn, I do. But you said some very hurtful things to me and I –"

"I know, it was stupid. I'm so stupid sometimes. But I care about you – about your future, okay? Maybe I won't get into a fancy college in New York City – like you – but I could get a job, or something, right? I could still come with you. You –" he took a deep breath, leaning closer to her and tilting her chin up towards his face. "Need to go, I get that. But maybe, I don't know, maybe you going doesn't mean the end of us like I thought."

He gave her a half smile, and such an endearing look that she was leaning toward him before she could stop herself.

But it didn't matter; something else stopped her instead.

The hallway was almost empty. Aside from her and Finn, there were a few freshmen huddled in a group around a locker; a Cheerio weeping openly as she clutched an empty candy bar wrapper; and a flash of blonde hair running past them.

Rachel turned her head, watching it go. Finn's lips pressed against her temple wetly, and she pulled back.

"Can we talk about this later, Finn? Perhaps after Glee is over this afternoon? That was Quinn wasn't it?" She felt compelled to give chase, something nagging at the back of her mind.

Why had Quinn been running down the hallway? The blonde would surely have a firm understanding that there was strictly no running down school hallways, and have first hand knowledge of the kind of punishment usually administered by Coach Sylvester for _anything_ she deemed as outside the realm of acceptable teenage behavior.

Which consisted of, mostly, everything other than being quiet, staying quiet, and trembling in fear when the Coach was present.

"Yeah, Rach. Whatever you want. And I won't even point out that she'll probably bite your head off, 'cause she like, hates you or whatever, because I know you're just being sweet. Because you are." He gave her that lopsided grin of his again. "Just think about what I said, okay? About you and me, and the future."

As he moved past her, she reached out and touched his arm. He really was such a sweet boy, and she did love him. She really did. Maybe he could follow her to New York City somehow? Perhaps he could get an apprenticeship as some kind of tradesman, and dutifully wait by the stage during her performances night after night, pledging his heart solely to her? He could become a carpenter, and build the sets that would form as the backdrops to her brilliant stage career.

A slow smile spread across her face as she hurried down the hallway after Quinn. Finn and New York City weren't mutually exclusive. They couldn't be.

Rachel didn't see Finn turn around halfway down the hallway, and frown. He should've told her that he loved her, he realized. Finn was two steps after her retreating form – imagining spinning her around and dipping her into a kiss or something super romantic – when he stopped himself. He would probably drop her or something, or accidently punch her again, if he tried to be smooth like that.

And anyway, she wanted to talk after Glee, didn't she? He would save the kiss for then. They'd probably be able to make out for ages anyway if he waited till then, and that would be awesome. Plus, if he told her he still loved her – and always would – and _then_ kissed her, she'd probably be so into it that she'd let him go straight for a boob grab. It'd be passionate, yeah. He turned back around, a grin on his face. He could totally go to New York City with her. Totally.

They had all the time in the world.

* * *

><p>"Where's Quinn?" Brittany asked, dipping a carrot stick in apple juice and sticking it in her mouth.<p>

Santana shrugged, slowly moving a piece of lettuce around on her plate. Cafeteria food sucked.

"Because she said she'd meet us here and she isn't here." Brittany dipped another carrot in juice, and licked along its length collecting the droplets that gathered with her tongue.

Santana looked away, because this was just lunch and they were just _carrot sticks_ but God, she remembered what that tongue could do.

Being just friends with Brittany also sucked.

"She's probably like, got her period and is in the bathroom or something." Santana angrily speared the lettuce leaf she'd been pushing around, folding it in on itself and stabbing through it again.

"Gross." Brittany wrinkled her nose. After a moment, her expression cleared. "But she stayed home last Monday, remember San? Because of her lady times."

"So?"

"Maybe we should go and find her?"

Santana rolled her eyes as Brittany blinked at her prettily. Well, why the fuck not? It wasn't like the cafeteria was especially thrilling, and if it meant she could stop watching Brittany give carrots oral sex, well it was win win, really.

"Whatever." Santana pushed her chair back, unable to stop the small smile from creeping onto her lips when Brittany grinned at her.

This being a good friend shit wasn't so bad, not really. They'd go and find Quinn, and then make fun of the teachers or something until it was time to go back to class.

* * *

><p>Rachel finally found her in the auditorium, sitting in the front row and staring at the stage.<p>

"Quinn?" She asked, tentatively stepping toward the seated girl and hoping Finn wasn't right about Quinn biting her head off.

"You know, I've been on that stage so many times since Glee started that I forgot what it felt like to be in the audience."

Rachel lowered herself into the chair two seats away from the blonde, in case she needed space or wanted to lash out violently. She turned to look at the stage, frowning as Quinn's words sunk into her mind.

"I suppose I have, too. I mean, I've rarely not been the one in the spotlight my whole life. But there was a time when I sat in the audience, and wished to be up there. So hard, I think," Rachel settled back in her chair, beginning to smile. "That I decided to dedicate my life to ensuring I would be."

She turned her smile to Quinn, feeling it drop off her face quickly when the other girl just kept staring straight ahead.

"Yeah, well, you're lucky."

Rachel was sure her eyebrows had become one with her hairline.

Quinn thought _she_ was lucky? Quinn; the ex-Head Cheerleader, beautiful blonde who had the world at her feet? Sure, there had been some rather disastrous moments regarding things like teen pregnancy, but she'd come through that with flying colors.

"Quinn, you –"

"My Mom's been seeing my Dad."

Quinn met her eyes, finally, and Rachel was startled to see tears in them.

"Oh, well, perhaps he has seen the error of his –"

"She started drinking again, too." Quinn looked away, hating that every time Rachel Berry managed to find her in an emotional state she just verbal vomited all over her.

"I'm sorry, Quinn." Rachel kept her face neutral when the other girl shook her head.

"They didn't even tell me. I found out from my sister's Facebook."

"Well, at least she told –" Rachel started hopefully, looking for anything that might appear positive.

"From her status, Berry. I found out my Mom – who promised me she would never see him again – has been seeing my Dad for _months_, and he's going to be moving back in with us. Into the house he kicked me out of. On _Facebook_." Quinn grit her teeth, willing herself not to cry.

"That is a very painful, and awful, thing to have happen Quinn. I'm so sorry it did. But, perhaps it's simply your mother attempting to fill the void you'll inevitably leave when you go to college in a few months. I imagine it's –"

"I'm not." Damn it, there were the tears she was trying to hold back.

Rachel wracked her mind for something to say. Something profound, and reassuring. But there was nothing. So she opted for therapeutic, instead.

"You could confront your mother, and tell her how you feel? Surely a mother's bond with her child is such that when that child is in pain, the mother would do _anything_ to take it away?" Rachel's voice was quiet, and tentative. What did she know of mothers? All she had to go on was what she'd always hoped they would be.

She saw Shelby's face in her mind, felt the ghost of a hug she still missed. And then she pushed those thoughts away.

And then, for a panicked moment, Rachel thought of Beth. There she'd gone again, shoving her foot in her mouth because she didn't think before she spoke.

"Right." Quinn laughed, though there was no humor in it. "If only."

Rachel hurriedly deflected the conversation back to Quinn's mother, specifically.

"I mean it, Quinn. If you could confront your mother and – and tell her how you feel, then you can open up a dialogue on the issue. Perhaps your father has had a change of heart. Surely she wouldn't take him back unless he had seen the error of his ways?"

Quinn sighed, gripping the armrests of her chair for a moment, before turning to the girl trying so desperately to cheer her up. God, Rachel Berry. Now there was someone who would never change.

"I don't think –" she started, but was cut off by Rachel standing up.

"I'll take you right now, if you want."

Quinn blinked, before frowning slightly.

"What, and just leave in the middle of the day? Come on Berry, you haven't skipped a class in your entire life."

Rachel didn't care. Because Quinn had opened up to her, again, and after every one of these rare talks between them she'd always found herself dwelling on what she should have said, or done, to ensure they'd become something that _wasn't_ rare. This was for the sake of friendship, and sisterhood, and all the other things she learned from watching buddy movies her entire teenage life.

She was sick of watching them. She wanted to be _in_ one, finally. They would be graduating soon, sure. And maybe she'd never see Quinn Fabray again.

But she had to try, didn't she? One last time. Perhaps, when it counted the most.

"I'll drive you to your house, Quinn – and I must insist on that. People in highly emotional states are not only a danger to themselves, but to society at large when getting behind the wheel – and you can march inside and demand your mother tell you the full story. Once your mind has been put at ease, I will drive you – again, I insist. Those in a state of euphoria are inconsiderate drivers – back in time for last period, and Glee." Really, it was a perfect plan. Rachel was suddenly filled with excitement. Maybe Quinn would sit _next_ to her in Glee after what was bound to be a deeply bonding afternoon. This would solidify their friendship once and for all, she just knew it.

Quinn thought about it. She thought about sitting in her classes the rest of the day and feeling the dread pile up in her stomach. She thought about going home by herself, and attempting to talk to her mother without being too angry about it, in case her mother decided to get angry _back_ at her.

And then she thought about marching into the house and catching her mother off guard. Speaking her mind, and then marching right back to Rachel Berry's car and listening as the other girl sang her praises for being so assertive.

Because she _was_ assertive. She was sick of avoiding everything. Sick of being invisible.

So she stood up, and headed toward the auditorium doors with purpose.

She paused in the hallway, turning back to stick her head through the doorway and look at Rachel, who was still standing where she'd left her.

"Come on!" She called, almost laughing when Rachel burst into a sudden smile and all but ran up the aisle after her.

* * *

><p>"She's not in this bathroom either." Brittany sighed deeply, a frown on her face as she exited the restroom. "Do you think she went home sick again?"<p>

Santana examined her nails, shrugging her shoulders.

"Do I look like a have a some kind of magical fucking Quinndar?"

Brittany rolled her eyes, and then gasped.

At the end of the hallway, opening the front doors, were Rachel and Quinn.

"Where are they going?"

Santana looked up, eyes widening slightly when she saw the girls exit the school.

"What is she doing with the –" she was cut off as Brittany went running down the hallway after them.

Great.

With an eye roll and a sigh, she followed.

* * *

><p>"Hey where are you guys going?" Brittany asked happily, as both Quinn and Rachel jumped at the sound of her voice.<p>

They were almost at Rachel's car, and had been glancing furtively around them for any sign of teachers. Or well, any sign of Coach Sylvester.

Brittany was like a ninja, or something. They hadn't heard _or_ seen her coming.

"Oh, hey B. We are – we were just going to –" but Quinn couldn't think of what to say next.

"Q! What is this, some lesbo rendezvous with Treasure Trail?" Santana called, catching up to them.

Rachel felt her heart sink. They were right there, at her car, about to embark on the first proper moment of their friendship and now Brittany and Santana were going to ruin it. They were Quinn's proper friends, not her.

"Shut up, S. Berry was giving me a lift, that's all."

Brittany kept smiling. "Can we come?"

"Are you serious?" Santana muttered, eyeing Rachel's car. What the hell even was that?

Rachel, for perhaps the first time in her life, kept her mouth closed. This was Quinn's business, anyway. Besides, it could be a bonding event for all of them. Couldn't it? She ignored her sudden self-consciousness at the prospect of Brittany and Santana joining them, walking around to the driver's side door and unlocking the car.

Quinn shrugged her shoulders, opening the passenger door once Rachel had unlocked it.

She could use all the moral support she could get.

* * *

><p>"I believe we should allow Quinn to enter her house alone." Rachel put her hands back on the steering wheel, though she'd turned the ignition off.<p>

It had been an awkward drive. She'd hastily turned her radio to a local music station when they'd pulled away from the school. It wasn't the best time for her custom made Celine Dion and Barbra Streisand classics CD, anyway.

Brittany and Santana had murmured to each other in the backseat, laughing every so often. Every now and then one would lean toward the front and say something softly to Quinn, who would smile tightly in reply.

Rachel wasn't sure why they couldn't say whatever it was out loud, and had tried not to let it bother her.

Not too much, anyway.

Now they were parked in front of the Fabrays, Quinn chewing her bottom lip like she'd changed her mind about going inside.

But she opened her car door, and closed it softly behind her.

She walked towards her house, and didn't look back.

"Why are we here, anyway?" Santana asked in a bored tone, as Brittany wound her window down.

"Quinn has something she needs to discuss with her mother." Rachel answered, reveling in having more knowledge about the situation than Quinn's supposed best friends.

Brittany clicked her seatbelt off, lifting her legs and scooting back until she was leaning against Santana with her legs resting outside the window.

"I thought we'd be going to the mall or something, not having some family hour bullshit."

Santana struggled to keep her breathing normal as Brittany laid her head in her lap. The sun was shining on those long, gorgeous legs, and even now her stomach still did that annoying flip flopping thing whenever they were close to each other.

Which seemed to be happening with an increasing frequency.

"Yes, well, Santana. As Quinn's best friend I'd assumed you knew about the issues she's been having at home." Rachel couldn't help but sound smug.

"Oh, you mean her Mom being a total alcoholic and pressuring her not to fuck her life up any further, right? Yeah, Berry, I know all about it."

Santana absently began running her fingers through Brittany's hair.

Brittany was pretty much in heaven right now.

Rachel shut her mouth. This was Quinn's business, and if she chose to share the recent developments to the rest of the car once her confrontation was over, then that was her decision to make.

Even if the desire to shove the knowledge of Quinn's parent's apparent reconciliation right in Santana's face killed her, Rachel would be a good friend and hold herself back. She would prove she _could_ be a good friend.

Maybe she'd even prove that she could be a best friend.

After ten minutes, Rachel turned her ignition over and turned the volume on the radio up.

After ten more minutes, she turned it and the car off again.

Five minutes after that, she started to think that perhaps Quinn required assistance inside. It might actually be in Quinn's best interest to divulge the information she had to Santana and Brittany. They were better candidates to intercept the situation, having met Quinn's mother probably numerous times before.

Although, neither girl had her people handling skills, nor her aptitude for neutralizing tense situations.

Not that it mattered, anyway. Just as she was about to make her decision, Russell Fabray's car pulled into the driveway.

* * *

><p>"Why won't you just talk to me, Mom?" Quinn pleaded, one hand gripping the back of a dining room chair.<p>

She had walked into the house firmly resolved to keep her cool. She would be mature about this, and find out _why_ it was happening before demanding that it stop.

Her mother had smiled brightly – too brightly – and offered her a turkey sandwich.

That was weird. She couldn't remember the last time her mother had offered her carbs, let alone had turkey roast in the house. Not since her father had left, anyway.

Her calm demeanor had cracked slightly, at that.

What was weirder, was that the turkey in question was on the dining room table with a carving knife next to it. Part of the breast was already gone, and there were two plates on the table.

Her maturity had left her completely at the sight. She hadn't even thought that he might've just _left_ the house. That he had been there when she was at school. How many times had this happened?

Her mother had laughed nervously, her voice filled with fake cheer as Quinn stared at the plates.

Then there was some yelling – mostly from Quinn – and some stomping around – again from Quinn – and now there was just an eerie silence as her mother left the room.

"I think it would be best if you heard it from both of us." Judith Fabray said, coming back into the dining room and smiling at her daughter.

"Why are you doing this?" Quinn whispered, feeling tears stinging the back of her eyes. This wasn't such a good idea, after all.

"Damn it, Quinn! Stop acting like such a child! Your father will be here in a minute, and we're both going to talk to you about it then. You always –" Judith threw her hands up, her fake cheer dropping away completely. "Think that everything just revolves around you! Well I'm sorry, sweetheart, but it doesn't. And the fact is, your father is a good man. He is. He made some poor decisions when it came to you, but he is sorry about that. People make mistakes."

"Mom, he _cheated_ on you, you told –" Quinn sat down heavily in one of the chairs, feeling like she wanted to cry forever.

"I am more than aware of that, Quinnie! It happened to me, do you understand? Me! I don't know if you've realized – swept up in your perfect little high school life – but there are only so many eligible men in Lima with good jobs, Quinnie. With all their hair, not to mention their _teeth_." Judith brought a hand up to her eyes, rubbing them tiredly. "And it's lonely for a woman my age to – you don't understand, you're young. You're beautiful. You have boys lining up to go out with you and take you to Prom. You just – you don't understand."

Quinn was actually crying now, she couldn't help it.

"Mom he isn't good for you –"

"I won't have you talking about things you don't know!" Judith shrilled, shaking her head and walking quickly into the kitchen.

Quinn heard cupboard doors open and close, and then the sound of glass lightly hitting glass. Her mother came back into the room holding a drink.

And then her father walked through the front door.

* * *

><p>"What the fuck?" Santana frowned, sitting forward and knocking Brittany's head off her lap.<p>

"Oh no." Rachel whispered, regretting the excursion entirely. This was bad. This was _Jerry Springer_ bad. "We should –" she started to say, but Santana had already opened the back car door and was sprinting toward the house after Russell Fabray.

Santana had met Quinn's father a few times. He'd always freaked her out, though. He was one of those dads that you never quite knew where you stood with him. Was he making a joke? Judging you? Did you call him, 'Sir'?

She'd never really liked him, anyway.

Quinn had told her about the affair with the tattooed freak, and how he'd turned his back on her with the whole pregnancy thing. It was shitty, but sometimes parents just were shitty. What was there to do about it? Other than stay awesome, and keep it real.

But seeing him walking toward the Fabray house, knowing Quinn was inside being all emotional with her mom, gave her a horrible sick feeling in her stomach. Something bad was brewing, she just knew it, and Quinn was in there alone.

* * *

><p>Brittany was annoyed that her pillow had been taken away, but then she'd watched Santana run after Quinn's dad and knew she had to follow. They were her best friends, and the last time Quinn had been kicked out she'd been all by herself. She'd cried for so long, too. Brittany remembered all of it.<p>

They'd been friends then, of course. They'd had sleepovers, and been Cheerios together, and had so much fun going on missions for Coach Sylvester. But then all the Glee Club stuff had happened sophomore year, and a crazy bunch of stuff had happened junior year, and now Quinn was her best friend properly. Like Santana, but with much less sexual tension and flirting.

She'd always felt bad about not being there for her during the whole pregnancy thing. But in all honesty, she hadn't really known then just how bad things had gotten.

But not this time. This time she would go stand by her friend, and then hug all her tears away if her parents were mean to her again.

So she followed Santana into the house, and didn't think twice about it.

* * *

><p>"This is a family matter, I won't have some Mexican dyke interrupting our business." Russell tilted his chin up, pinning Santana with a glare.<p>

"Wow, Russ. Way to be a role model." Santana sneered, crossing her arms.

Quinn wanted to crawl into a hole and die. This was so embarrassing.

"Quinnie, please tell your friends to wait outside while we discuss this." Judith sipped from her drink nervously, glancing between her daughter's friends as they moved to stand either side of her.

"We're staying. Two against one is worse than three against two." Brittany said, placing a hand on Quinn's shoulder and doing her best to frown in an intimidating way.

"I'm missing work for this, Quinn. Do you understand that? These shenanigans are appalling, have you learned nothing from your little ordeal two years ago? Judy, you said she was back on track." He turned to his ex-wife, shaking his head.

"Please stop." Quinn whispered.

"She is, darling. We all will be, soon enough." Judith finished her drink, and moved into the other room to get a refill.

"Come on Q, you don't have to stay and put up with this." Santana said, loud enough for both Russell and Judith to hear, and probably the neighbors across the street.

"I see your choice of friends hasn't improved one bit. The heathen and the idiot." Russell kept his shoulders squared, more imposing than he'd ever been to Santana.

But fuck backing down to him, and fuck it forever.

"You're looking as portly and ugly as ever, you ignorant fucking asshole." She quirked her eyebrow, though it faltered slightly when he smiled.

"There is only so much a man can do for his children. You can pay for their nose jobs, and ballet classes. Get their teeth straightened and take them to church every Sunday. You can tell them about the kinds of people they should stay away from, and how to act so they don't make fools of themselves." He stepped closer to them, shrugging his shoulders. "And still they'll break your heart."

"Dad –" Quinn started, fresh tears pooling in her eyes.

"They'll act like a _slut_ and make you the laughing stock of the whole town," he was trembling, his face going red. "They'll cavort with misfits and deviants and bring you nothing but shame. They'll –" his voice had dropped, ripping out of his throat harshly.

Santana was pretty sure she'd stepped into the fucking Twilight Zone.

Brittany was just squeezing Quinn's shoulder tighter and tighter.

"Excuse me, but I insist that you desist from your angry, hateful words and take a seat." Rachel stepped confidently into the dining room, taking a deep breath and planting a smile on her face. "I understand we are all experiencing some high emotion right now, but in matters of the heart – and what is the heart, but love, and what is love, but that which you feel for people you are close to, and what are they but members of your family – it is best to keep a rational mind and not let things like anger overtake you." She smiled encouragingly.

Russell looked like Rachel had just walked in and squatted on the carpet in front of him to take a piss.

"The _Berry_ child?" He spluttered, looking back at Quinn as his face reddened further. "Oh you – no, Quinn I – of all the things you could do to me –"

Quinn pushed her chair back and stood, the scraping of the wood on the floor making everyone look at her.

"Just shut up!" She yelled, slamming her hands on the table. "Just everybody shut up!"

Judith walked back into the room, weaving a little and smiling brightly.

"Well, we are all just a tad excited. I think we should do what that little Jew girl over there is saying and sit down and have a drink!" She sat down on one of the dining chairs, as Russell took the drink out of her hand and downed it himself.

"Excuse me?" Rachel asked, feeling indignation and disbelief taking up arms and plotting to take over her mouth.

"What is she doing here? In my house!" Russell shook his head again. "You, Berry child, did anyone see you come in here?"

"I don't see how that would matter –" Rachel started.

"You are such a fucking dick you big blonde asshole!" Santana yelled.

"Stop yelling at her!" Brittany added.

Quinn wiped angrily at the tears coming out of her eyes.

"Just that old coot across the street, darling. Poor dear has dementia, she won't tell a soul that the Jew girl of those Berry people was in our house." Judith smiled reassuringly, ignoring the yelling teenagers completely.

"Get out of my house!" Russell had had enough. This day could not get any worse for him. "You pack your bags, Lucy Quinn Fabray, and you get out of this house! Take your filthy little friends with you! Get them out!"

But Judith stopped smiling at that.

"Now Russell, Quinnie doesn't have to –"

"Yes, she does, Judith. You clearly can't handle her. No one can handle her. She is a disgrace to the Fabray name, and I want her gone. You heard what Pete and Trudy were saying about her, you told me that. Hell, the entire church was talking behind your back, and this is why, Judy. This is why!"

Quinn felt all the blood drain from her face. This couldn't be happening again. The first time had shattered her heart completely.

This? This would kill her.

"Please, Daddy. I'll be better –" she started, moving toward him as Brittany and Santana unsuccessfully tried to hold her back.

"Take Berry upstairs and pack a bag for Q, she's coming to my house." Santana murmured to Brittany, keeping her eyes on Russell.

"That's what you said to your mother after that baby was born. I don't believe sinners, Quinn. They lie, and they lie, to get their way. You are –" he kept his eyes hardened, though his voice shook slightly when he said it. "Not my daughter. You are nothing."

Brittany led Rachel up to Quinn's bedroom, unable to keep her mouth from hanging open at everything that was happening downstairs. This was like the soap operas her grandma loved to watch.

But so much worse.

"Please don't do this!" Quinn begged, grabbing onto her father's arm and forgetting all about things like standing up for herself, or how many times he had now broken her heart. She didn't want to be kicked out, and abandoned, again. She wanted to belong.

She wanted to be chosen.

"You leave me no choice!" The look on his daughter's face broke him. The tears, and the misery etched into her features. It did something to his brain – already fuelled with anger and hurt – that was the opposite of what Quinn seemed to be trying to appeal to.

How dare she ask his forgiveness when she kept flaunting her wrongdoings in his face. How dare she appeal to the part of him that couldn't stand to see her cry, when she'd hurt him so badly.

"Daddy," she whispered, eyes big and watery.

How dare she use her wiles against him. She was a manipulator. A deceitful, deviant manipulator.

"You have gotten away with enough!" He yelled, suddenly, grabbing her and turning her around. He pushed her down onto the table, and began to loosen his belt.

"Russell!" Judith cried out, standing, as Santana's eyes bugged out of her head.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" She lunged toward him, though he threw her off easily.

"Punishing her as she has punished me!" He had freed his belt from the loops of his pants, with one hand pinning Quinn to the table. He stood to the side a little, and raised the belt to strike.

Santana leapt to her feet, running toward the kitchen and grabbing the biggest knife she could find.

"I can't watch this." Judith said, moving into the same room and passing Santana as she ran back out.

"Let her go motherfucker!" She yelled, brandishing the kitchen knife high above her head.

Russell turned to look, ready to bring the belt down against the back of his daughter's thighs.

Quinn used the momentary distraction to grab the only thing within reach – the carving knife from the turkey roast – and launched herself back with all of her might.

Brittany ran down the stairs as she heard Quinn and Santana start screaming.

What she saw was something she would never forget.

Rachel appeared behind her, dropping the bag she had just packed as she watched Santana step back from Russell Fabray and drop the knife she was holding. Her face was paler than she'd ever seen it, and she was shaking so violently she was almost a blur.

Quinn kept stabbing her father. She was sobbing, and screaming, and Rachel had never heard anything like it.

Judith re-entered the room, a bottle of gin in one hand, seemingly confused as she surveyed what she had missed.

Then the bottle dropped, and shattered.

"You – you what have you –" she stammered, slurring slightly. She turned on her heel, stumbling back toward the kitchen.

"She's going to call the police." Rachel said, in complete shock. Her mind was short-circuiting in the worst way. This was so bad. This was the worst thing that had ever happened. She was going to be sick. They were going to go to jail. Their futures, everything, was finished. "Stop her."

Brittany didn't know what Rachel expected her to do, but she followed Judith into the kitchen anyway.

"Get away from me! Heathen! Demon!" Judith cried, fumbling with the phone receiver attached to the wall.

"Stop it, please stop it! Please don't do that!" Brittany pleaded, her own hands beginning to shake because she didn't know what to do. She had to shut her up. She had to help her friends. She had to stop this whole thing from ever happening. "I'm so sorry."

Her hands moved around the woman's neck from behind. Brittany closed her eyes, and began to squeeze.

Rachel picked the bag at her feet back up, moving quickly past Quinn and Santana and out of the house, toward her car. She had to put the bag in the car. Then they had to leave. They had to get away. It was simple.

Leave. Get away. All they had to do.

When she walked back into the house, Brittany was pulling Quinn back from the body of her father. There was blood everywhere, most of it all over Quinn and Santana. Brittany kept pulling Quinn until she was standing, not seeming to notice some of the blood smearing from Quinn's shirt onto her own.

"We have to go." Rachel said, as Quinn's legs buckled and she started to sob brokenly.

Santana snapped out of her daze, moving awkwardly to help Brittany pick Quinn up off the floor and lead her out of the house.

"It's okay, it's okay," Santana whispered, stroking Quinn's hair though she was still trembling violently. There was blood all over her hands, but it was almost like she couldn't see it.

Or didn't want to.

They drove to Rachel's house first. She left them in the car while she hurriedly packed a bag of her own.

Then to Santana's. The house was thankfully empty, Rachel running up the stairs and opening every door until she found Santana's room. Another bag was packed.

There was a bat leaning against the wardrobe door. She grabbed that, too.

She didn't know how she drove them safely from house to house, nor navigated her way to their rooms and packed their clothes. But she did it. She had to.

They had to get away.

It was all she could think about. No thoughts of Glee Club, or Finn, or her fathers. Just getting away from the Fabray house, and leaving it forever.

Brittany's house was also empty. On any other occasion, she would've squealed and petted the giantly fat cat that lounged across the girl's bed.

But she barely noticed him.

When she got back into the car, Quinn was no longer sobbing. Her breathing kept hitching, though, and her stare was vacant.

Santana had her hands in her lap and her eyes closed. She was taking deep, shuddering breaths.

Brittany kept blinking, a slight frown creasing her brow and a dazed look on her face – more than Rachel had ever seen on her before.

She had to get them away.

"It will be okay." She said, voice trembling as she put the car into gear and steered it through the town they had all grown up in.

Steered it down the main street, past the diners and clothing stores she had frequented since she'd been a child. There weren't many people around, and for that she was thankful. They had to be invisible. They had to get away.

Steered them past the parks they had played in as children; the suburban streets that some of their fellow Glee clubbers now lived in. Past churches, and bakeries, and the sprawling fields that lay on the outskirts of town.

Steered them onto the highway, and past a sign that read, simply, 'You Are Now Leaving Lima'.


End file.
